The Beginning of an Era
by theHuntgoeson
Summary: Sequel to "The Return". Alex is back at Fenchurch East, and she, Gene, and new arrival DI Jason Collins assemble a new team and set out on more adventures. But Jason has travelled back to 1983 with a few issues of his own...
1. Siege Mentality

**A/N: Disclaimer: BBC, Kudos and Monastic own Ashes to Ashes.**

**Hiya, all! Sorry for the terribly long break since my last story. After publishing "Memory" in July, I developed eyesight problems which stopped me using a PC for some time. Then last month, when I was ready to start publishing this story, my laptop's operating system committed suicide and it took weeks to repair it, retrieve the files, and reinstall the programs. Many thanks to those of you who have encouraged me during the past five months, especially Katie Duggan's Niece, Solo Lady, and MissLP.**

**Anyway, here AT LAST is the long-promised sequel to "The Return". When I wrote "The Return" I intended it as a oneshot, but so many people asked me to write more that I decided to try, and here is the result. I've given it this title because the trailer to Series 3, Episode 8 described it as "the end of an era". As "The Return" takes Alex back to Fenchurch East, and ends with the words "THE BEGINNING", it seemed right to me that its sequel, dealing with the adventures of Gene, Alex and their new team (including the New Arrival, here called Jason Collins) should begin another era. This is a work in progress – I've written several chapters, but there's loads more to do. If I get to write all the story I have in my head, this could turn out to be quite an epic. I can't promise to update regularly, as it'll all depend on how much time I get for writing (I have a string of music reviews coming up), but I'll do my best.**

**As always, any reviews would be very much appreciated, and I always reply! **

**The story starts exactly where "The Return" finishes...**

On the way to Archer Lane, Gene's radio crackled into life.

"Paul here, Sir. Update on the situation at Archer Lane."

He grabbed the radio, continuing to steer with his other hand as they rounded a corner on a wheel and a half. The other occupants of the car were used to it, but Collins wailed, "That's against the law!"

"Shut _up_," Terry muttered, and on his other side Poirot jabbed him in the ribs.

"Spit it out, Skip," Gene barked into the radio.

"Blag's become a hostage situation, Sir. It's at a bookie's with a rented flat above. Uniform responded to the 999 call and tried to effect an arrest, but the blaggers escaped upstairs and are holding the residents. Mother and three children of pre-school age."

"Oh, _deep_ joy."

"Uniform have cleared the street, and an armed response unit is on the way. An ambulance is on standby in case of casualties. The blaggers are firing out of the windows and threatening to shoot their hostages unless they're allowed to leave with the takings from the shop."

"Do we know 'ow many blaggers there are?"

"Witnesses in the bookies said four. No IDs yet."

"Who's allegedly in charge there?"

"Sergeant Simpson, Sir."

"Not surprised it's escalated. He couldn't negotiate 'is way out of 'is own boxers. We'll be there in two minutes. Out." He threw the radio onto the dashboard. "Let that be a lesson to you, lady an' gentlemen. _Never _let plod get in your way. They'll only arse it up. Bolly, looks like we'll be requiring your silver-tongued negotiating skills."

"Right, Guv. Good job I'm back, then," Alex said archly.

"Terry an' Poirot, you'll give 'er cover. Just because she's an unarmed negotiator, doesn't mean they mightn't try an' put daylight in 'er. Collins, we'll try an' get in round the back while she keeps 'em talking."

Collins went paler than his jacket. "Shouldn't we carry out a health and safety assessment first, Sir?"

"_Oh_-oh," Alex murmured. "_Big_ mistake."

"The only assessment I'm carrying out is whether to cut off just their arms, or their arms, their legs _an' _their dicks."

"But that's police brutality!" Collins squeaked. "It would get you suspended!"

"If they're _very_ lucky, I'll suspend 'em by their ankles," Gene said darkly. "If not, it'll be by their bollocks. Guns out, gentlemen, we're 'ere."

The much-tried Cortina squealed to a halt and they jumped out, except for Collins, who wailed, "But I haven't got a gun! I haven't had any firearms training!"

"Bloody 'ell, is there anything you _can_ do, 'cept complain?"

"_I want to wake up! I want to go home!_"

Alex hauled him out of the car, took him by the shoulders, and shook him hard. "Jason. Right now, you are here, and the lives of civilians, including children, may depend upon you, so do as the Guv tells you. Remember, being where the Guv is, is the right place to be."

"_DRAKE!_ When you've quite finished changing young Jason's nappy!"

"Yes, Guv." She ran to join Gene, and Collins dazedly followed. Uniform had set up road blocks at either end of the Lane, using squad cars, and all other buildings in the street had been evacuated. About a dozen uniformed officers were keeping the public away. Terry and Poirot were already in position, crouched behind a squad car, guns trained on the windows of the flat above the betting shop.

"Hold your fire," Alex said softly to them. "We don't know the situation in there yet." Both nodded. She was just about to step past the road block, when a gunshot rang out and a bullet whizzed past her ear. Gene shoved her to the ground, shielding her with his body. Collins was already there: he was nearly fainting with terror.

"Hunt! Keep back, and tell your tart and your goons to keep back!"

"Bugger." Gene risked looking up. "Harry Kempster. His brothers must be in there with 'im."

"Don, Ken and Mick. That would make four blaggers, just as the witnesses said." Alex's voice was muffled beneath Gene's bulk. "Get off me. I have to talk to him."

Gene rolled off Alex. "You don't talk to scum like 'im!"

"Oh, yeah?" Alex was still on the ground. "What'll you do, then? Go in shooting? Because then the Kempsters might kill the hostages."

"That's if 'e doesn't asphyxiate 'em first."

Before Gene could object, Alex stood, motioning to the others to stay down. "Harry? Harry. I'm DI Alex Drake."

"I know who you are, luscious. Can't resist my charms, can you?" An unkempt, dirty, unshaven face leered from an open window. She could almost smell his fetid breath from where she was standing. He wasn't called Halitosis Harry for nothing.

"Harry, I'm unarmed. Can we talk?"

"Depends what you want to talk about."

"I'm trained in hostage negotiation. This goes at your own speed and in your own time. If there is anything you need, please just let us know."

"I'll tell you what I need!" He turned and called over his shoulder. "Don! Give me that kid! No - that one!" There was a shrill, childish scream and a wail, and he turned back to the window with a little girl in his arms. She was aged about three or four, with mousey blonde hair. "I want you and all your friends to get out of here - NOW!" He heaved the girl through the window and sat her on the ledge. Behind him, a woman cried out, a man's voice bellowed "Shut up!", and they heard the sound of a slap and someone falling.

"_BASTARDS!_" Gene bellowed. "Let them go! If you so much as harm a hair on their heads I'll kill you!"

"Don't you dare!" Collins shouted, his eyes blazing. He seemed transformed. "Let her alone!"

Normally Alex would have been the voice of reason. Abruptly, Gene was aware that he was waiting for her to calm him down, to tell him to stop. But she seemed to freeze, and every scrap of colour drained from her already pale face. It was as though the worst moment of her life had suddenly returned to haunt her.

"_DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT! THERE'S A CHILD! HOLD YOUR FIRE!_"

Gene shuddered involuntarily, and grabbed her arm. "Don't you _dare_ spook on me, Drake! Pull yourself together, pronto tonto, or so 'elp me I'll burn your knickers in front of the station with you in 'em!" Alex, shaking and breathing hard, seemed incapable of speech.

"Shut up! All of you!" Harry cuffed the side of the little girl's head, and her wails subsided into terrified sobs. "I _need_ you lot to clear out and let us go. If you don't, I'll push her - NOW!"

Alex found her voice. "Get back. All of you, get back beyond the end of the street. Leave me to talk to him."

"An' leave you 'ere?"

"I'll keep him talking, distract him," she said in a rapid undertone. "Find another way in." Aloud, she added, "Take everyone with you."

Gene nodded. Without looking down, he muttered, "Poirot, stay. Guard." The rotund copper, still crouched at Alex's feet like a shaggy, faithful hound, his gun trained on the window, nodded his understanding. From the window, he could not be seen behind the squad car.

"NOW!" Harry screamed, seizing the little girl's arm.

"Right." Gene stood, holstering his gun, instantly authoritative. "Back off, all of you. Out of sight. Drake, stay 'ere an' try an' talk some sense into 'im." He raised his arms and motioned to the others to retreat. He felt sick at heart at having to leave Alex, unarmed, to face Harry, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. She was the only person who might be able to calm the situation now. Poirot was a crack shot, and he would protect her.

They had retreated around the corner into Fairlie Street before Gene realised that he was a man short. "Where the hell's Collins?"

"Don't know, Sir." Terry shook his head apologetically. "I thought he was following us."

"Can't go back for 'im now. If Harry sees us, 'e could fire at Drake or the hostages. Daft twonk'll 'ave to stay wherever 'e is. If we're really lucky, maybe Harry'll shoot 'im. Or breathe at 'im."

A uniformed officer approached them with a small, doughnut-shaped lady. "Report on the situation at the back of the property, Sir. All properties in the block have been cleared and road blocks have been set up on all four sides, that's Fairlie Street, Brook Street and Castle Place. There's a gunman on the fire escape at the back of the property."

"Any ID?"

"It looks like Ken Kempster, Sir."

"It figures. Sentry-go's the only job he's bright enough to do."

"Mrs Heston here runs the sweet shop in Brook Street. Her property backs onto the crime scene. We've got PC Wason keeping a watch from her upstairs window. She says that you can get in through her back yard."

At that moment an armed response vehicle arrived with a squeal of brakes and disgorged a dozen officers, all armed to the teeth. Their leader approached Gene.

"Sergeant Mayhew, Sir."

"Right, listen up. We've got four armed men in the flat above 84 Archer Lane. One's at the front window, one at the back, the other two are probably keepin' an eye on the hostages. Woman an' three young children. I want your men positioned at either end of Archer Lane an' at rear windows in Fairlie Street an' Brook Street, where they can observe the gunmen. No shots to be fired yet. I've got a negotiator tryin' to talk 'em down. Harry's feelin' trigger 'appy an' it doesn't take much to upset Kenny-boy. All 'is brains are in 'is muscles. Terry an' I'll try an' get in through the back."

"Better wait until my men are in position, then, Sir. They can give you cover."

"Yes, but they must only fire as a last resort. If anything 'appens to make Ken shoot, the other three'll go for the 'ostages. We need to take 'im out quietly."

Mrs Heston spoke up. "He won't be able to see you from my back yard, sir. I have a high board fence to provide a shady area to keep the spare freezer for ice creams in summer. There's a loose plank. You can move it aside to get into the garden behind the bookies'. It's all overgrown, he may not see you there."

"We need to create a diversion, Sir," Sergeant Mayhew suggested. "Something to take his attention elsewhere while you get in."

"Yeah, I went to school, I know what a diversion is, ta," Gene grumbled. A tabby kitten appeared from nowhere and rubbed affectionately against his ankles. "Gerroff!"

"Bad pussy!" Mrs Heston made a dive for it. "I'm sorry, sir, it's one of a litter that's been abandoned by a stray who used to bed down in Mrs Jessop's garden. They're always around the neighbourhood, cadging food."

Gene looked at it, and a gleam appeared in the corner of his eye. "Puss in boots. Fancy 'elping the police? There might be a tin of Whiskas in it for you."

-oO0Oo-

Alex faced Harry, apparently alone. She was aware of a second person besides Poirot crouched at her feet, but had the sense not to look down.

"They've gone, Harry. Just as you asked."

"So, why are _you_ still here? I said everyone was to go."

"I'm staying as a negotiator. I can't harm you. I have no weapons and no radio. Please listen to me for a minute, Harry."

"Why?"

"You must realise that if you hurt any of your hostages and you are then caught, your sentence would be far longer than it would be, simply for raiding a bookie's. Let them go now."

"Why?"

"A mother and her children. They're terrified. They haven't done you any harm. At least consider letting the children go."

"I'll tell you what I'm considering. I've got four bargaining chips 'ere. This is just the first one." He took a swing at the sobbing child, who was clinging for dear life to a drainpipe. "So this one's expendable. I can push 'er off the ledge to show you I mean business, and I've still got two more, and their Mum, to push over after that, if you don't clear off!"

"I understand, Harry." Alex strove to keep her voice level. "You feel trapped. I help people who are trapped. I help them to find an escape route."

"The only escape route I want right now is out of this stinking hole! Or she goes over!"

"And if you were allowed to leave, would you let your hostages go?" Alex prayed that Gene was finding a way in. Letting the Kempsters go was unthinkable, but it would be preferable to having a child killed before their eyes.

Harry laughed. "Think I don't know that you and your friends wouldn't be after us, as soon as we leave? They come with us. Every time we see a filth car behind us, another gets shot in the head and chucked out of our van!"

"A mother and three young children? How will you ever be able to keep them in order? They'll be too frightened to obey you."

Harry grinned evilly. "I'll take that chance."

"There's an alternative. I'm not asking you to give up your hostages. I know that's important to you. But - "

"Tell you what, sweetie. I'll let 'em go if _you _come with us. None of your friends following us. We'll let you go when we want. You'll 'ave to take the risk that, before we do, the four of us could have some fun with you. We could be the first crims to shag a cop bird. The choice is yours, sexy cheeks. Them - or _you_."

Alex had gone as pale as a sheet, but mustered herself to answer.

"_NO!_" A third voice rang out, and Collins jumped to his feet in front of Alex, nearly knocking her off balance.

"Keep_ down_, you daft bastard," Poirot muttered, too late.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry shouted. "I said _everyone_ was to get back! You've betrayed me, Drake!"

Alex hoped that she looked surprised enough. "Wh-where did you spring from, Jason? You must have been hiding under the car. I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't know he was here - "

Collins smiled confidently at Harry. "It's all right, I'm on work experience. I'm unarmed and quite, quite harmless."

"Dunno about that," Poirot grumbled, and Alex kicked him discreetly.

"Take me as hostage instead of her," Collins continued briskly.

"What?" Alex and Harry exploded together.

"Why the hell should I take you when I could have _her_?" Harry demanded. "Drake, you shift your arse over here, or she gets it!" He stretched his arm out to the little girl, who had wriggled out of reach further along the ledge. Alex, her mind made up, stepped forward, but Collins barred her way.

"Because Hunt won't trust a woman to look after herself. He'll trust _me_."

"Like hell he will!" Alex hissed at him.

"I can guarantee that nobody will pursue you if I'm with you, and I'll stay with you for as long as you want," Collins continued. "Consider, Harry - if you and your brothers stop for some fun, as you call it, it could lead to your being surrounded, perhaps a shoot-out. Could be nasty. Much better that you make a clean getaway with a co-operative hostage."

"Whose side are you on?" Harry said suspiciously. Alex and Poirot were thinking much the same thing, but Alex noticed approvingly that Collins's intervention had prolonged the dialogue and attracted Harry's interest. The longer they could keep this up and divert his attention from his hostages, the greater the chance that Gene and Terry might find a way in.

"I'm a police officer," Collins said firmly. "But I believe that it's possible to resolve a situation without violence. Which is why you should let your hostages go and take me with you."

Harry looked at him very hard. Collins smiled brightly at him, looking as innocent and gormless as Frank Spencer. Everyone held their breath.

"All right," he said at last. "You for them. But if you try anything, your friends'll be looking for you in pieces. Got that?"

"Got that. What do you want me to do?"

Harry called over his shoulder. "Don! Go down and unlock the street door, and bring him up!" He turned back to Collins. "Go to the door. Number 84A, the white one to the right of the bookies'. My brother'll open it, and he'll have a gun. You come up with him. You so much as breathe out of turn and he'll be a cop killer."

"Understood." Collins was very serious and still. "When will you let them go?"

"After we've got you. Not before."

Collins nodded. "Right."

Alex had been watching, aghast. As Collins made to move, she seized his arm.

"Jason, for God's sake! You can't do this!"

He looked back at her. "Oh, yes, I can and will."

"I can't let you! The Guv would never allow it."

"You don't outrank me, DI Drake, so I don't have to follow your orders. The Guv isn't here, but he's relying on us to use our initiative to keep the situation under control, which is what I'm doing."

"I'm a trained hostage negotiator. Are you?"

Collins shook his head. "No, but I know that I can't let a woman go in there."

"God, you're even more of a sexist than he is!"

"This isn't sexism, it's good old-fashioned chivalry. God knows what might happen to you in there. The _worst_ they can do to me, is to kill me. They could do a lot worse to you, before they killed you."

"Are you 'aving second thoughts or what, Sonny boy?" Harry's voice broke in impatiently. "Time's up. One of you come in, or she goes over. Make your minds up!"

"Coming," Jason called apologetically. He looked back at Alex, who reluctantly released his arm. He smiled reassuringly. "It's all right," he murmured confidentially. "I know this is only a dream. I've always wanted to be a hero, and now I've got the chance when I can't be hurt. Don't worry, I have a cunning plan."

"_Jason!_"

But he had already walked away.

"Want me to take out Don when he opens the door, Ma'am?" Poirot's voice, at her feet, broke across her troubled thoughts. She made a small, negative gesture with her hand.

"No," she answered quietly. "They still have the hostages." As she spoke, the door opened and Jason went in. Alex watched with a sinking heart. She dreaded that they might lose their latest recruit on his first day, and she could not begin to imagine what Gene would say.

Without turning her head, she glanced along the street and saw that a fire engine had arrived and that they had a jump sheet ready for the little girl. She wondered whether it would be needed. There was no way of knowing how Collins's presence inside might change the situation. He might be trusting the Kempsters to let the hostages go in exchange for him, but she didn't.

-oO0Oo-

With the kitten in her arms, Mrs Heston escorted Gene and Terry through her store room, full of cartons of Mars bars and Curly Wurlys and jars of gob stoppers. Gene grabbed his radio. "PC Wason? Hunt here. What's our gunman doing?"

"Watching all the back lots on both sides. There's no movement, as all the houses have been evacuated. He might get bored soon."

"Right, time to liven 'im up a bit. Mayhew, where are your boys?"

"All in position, Sir, and under orders not to fire except to save life."

"Roger that." He pocketed his radio and nodded to Mrs Heston, who unlocked her back door. "Just tell me which the loose board is, love, an' then get the 'ell out. We'll take it from 'ere."

Mrs Heston stood her ground. "You'll need me to hold the kitten, sir. He knows me, and he's placid with me. If either of you tries to hold him, he could turn into a fireball."

"Okay. But you'll stay your own side of the fence, an' you'll get out as soon as we've let the cat go. Otherwise we've got you to worry about as well as the hostages."

She nodded, and Gene drew his gun and very cautiously pushed the door open. All was quiet. They stole cautiously across the yard, and Mrs Heston pointed to a board in the fence which was loose at the bottom. Terry lifted it a few inches and Mrs Heston inserted the kitten through the gap. Gene nodded, and she made herself scarce while the two men listened at the fence. At first, there was nothing. Gene peered through a knot-hole in the wood, but could only see tall grass and shrubs. Then they both heard a rough voice, high with nervousness.

"Who's there?"

Silence.

"If you're Old Bill, I'll blow your 'ead off!"

The two men could just make out the sound of the kitten, ambling lazily through the overgrown garden. They could imagine the effect upon the nervous Ken. Gene held his breath. If Ken didn't come down to investigate, they could be in trouble.

Silence. More feline rustlings.

Gene cautiously lifted the loose board and crawled through the gap. Terry followed. They crouched amid the tangled vegetation.

"Don!"

_Shit. The idea was to take Ken out, not bring Don into it._

"Don's not 'ere." They recognised Harry's voice. "He's bringing the filth up. What do you want?"

_Bringing the filth up. Does that mean Bolly's charmed herself in there in exchange for the hostages? And where's Collins buggered off to?_

"There's someone down there!"

Gene and Terry were absolutely still.

"Shoot 'em then! That's what I gave you a gun for!"

"Can't see 'em..." Ken whimpered, but received no reply. Gene guessed that Harry's attention had been distracted by something inside or in front of the building.

There was a short silence, then they heard the sound of Ken stomping down the metal stairs, plainly hoping to terrify his unseen adversary with a show of strength. Knowing that his noise would cover any sound they made, Gene and Terry inched through the undergrowth until they could see the fire escape, an old-fashioned, zig-zagging metal stairway. Ken stood at the foot of the stairs, brandishing his gun and looking terrified. Gene stole around the edge of the small clearing at the foot of the fire escape and crept up on the unsuspecting Ken from behind. Terry was about to make a noise to distract Ken's attention when, right on cue, the kitten meowed, strolled into view, sat down, and started to wash itself.

Ken heaved a long sigh of relief. A leather-gloved hand snaked out and wrapped itself around his mouth, and Gene spun him around and punched him on the jaw. He went down without a sound.

Terry pointed to the back door on the ground floor level. It was closed, and did not give when Gene cautiously tried it. It had no visible lock, so he guessed that it was fastened from the inside. Much though he longed to kick it down, he resisted the temptation. It would alert Harry, Mick and Don to his presence, long before he would have any chance of reaching the hostages. Terry fished a massive Swiss army knife from his pocket - _twat_ - and handed it to Gene, who carefully inserted the blade into the gap between the door and doorframe and lifted it. The door swung inward, and he grinned in triumph. It had only been fastened by a simple slip catch. He motioned to Terry to go inside, and crept up the fire escape. They did not know how long they would have before Ken was missed. Gene prayed that Alex had not exchanged herself for the family. The prospect of facing another hostage taker, holding her at gunpoint, would be a nightmare come true.

**TBC**


	2. Side Kick

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. BBC, Monastic and Kudos get all the fun.**

**Sorry for the long gap since posting Chapter 1, especially as I'd left it on a cliffhanger. As prophesied, I had to give priority to a couple of opera reviews. **

**Many thanks to everyone who read Chapter 1, and especially my kind reviewers, with an especial shout-out to those to whom I can't send a PM to thank them. I hope you all enjoy Chapter 2, and remember, reviews are always welcome!**

With his hands on his head, Collins ascended the stairs ahead of Don, who jabbed him in the kidneys with his gun to encourage him on his way. He could almost taste the tension and terror in the room above. He was astonished by how real this all seemed. He could feel the treads of the stairs beneath his feet, his unfamilar clothes against his body and Don's gun against his ribs, and even before he entered the room, the atrocious smell of Harry's breath hit him like a slap in the face. Harry was at the window. A woman was crouched in a corner of the room, sobbing hopelessly, with her arms around two young children, a boy and a girl. A third man, whom Collins guessed to be Mick, was holding them at gunpoint. Harry looked over his shoulder and saw the new arrival.

"Don, take the window," he barked, and Don obeyed. "So it's our own little pet piggy," he crooned. "Come 'ere where I can take a good look at you. An' keep you 'ands right where I can see 'em."

"Of course." Collins smiled pleasantly. He walked steadily over towards Harry and stood in front of him. "Here I am, signed, sealed and - er - delivered."

"Yep. All our _very_ own." Harry leered at him, obviously expecting him to be terrified, or at least to flinch when he exhaled. Collins thanked Heaven that he was a first class swimmer and accustomed to holding his breath for long periods.

"So," he said quietly, "now I'm here as promised, isn't it time you thought about letting them go?" He nodded towards the huddled group in the corner. "And letting that little girl off the ledge?"

"Ah..." Harry grinned. "Well, I'm afraid there's been a change of plan. Sorry to disappoint you." The woman gave a little, hopeless whimper and began to sob again. Mick cuffed the side of her head and she sank down with a moan, trying to shield her children with her body.

Collins raised his elegant eyebrows. "A change?"

"Yeah, 'fraid so. I've decided to keep you as well as them."

"_What_?" Collins was careful to keep any hint of indignation from his voice. Merely well-bred surprise. "But we _agreed_ that you'd let them go in exchange for me!"

Harry grinned again. Collins wished he wouldn't. The man had the most disgusting teeth he had ever seen. "Never trust honour among thieves, lad. Didn't they teach you that at your posh police training school?" He shook his head in mock sorrow. "When will you learn, eh?"

Collins looked sympathetic. "Well, as to that, there was more than one reason why I offered myself as a hostage, and one of them could be _very_ much to your advantage."

"More than 'aving you as a bargaining counter?" Harry said sceptically.

"Yup. Look, let me explain..."

-oO0Oo-

Gene paused outside the door at the top of the fire escape and listened for a moment. All was quiet. He tried the door handle, and it opened at his touch. He could hear voices in the room beyond, and recognised Harry's grating tones and a smooth, posh voice which he identified as that of Collins. _The filth. That's what Harry said. But what's the daft twonk doing up here? _His blood curdled as he heard what Collins was saying.

"I know you won't believe this, but I come from the future."

"Eh?" Harry's jaw dropped.

_That's right, you dumbbell, blow your cover on your first day here._

"I know it seems impossible, but it's true. I was jogging to work on 21 May 2010, and someone hit me on the back of the head. Bastard must have taken my iPhone. I woke up here, this morning, and found that I've travelled twenty-seven years back in time."

Harry chuckled."Shit, I knew the filth were desperate for new recruits, but I didn't think they were hiring dafties."

"I said you wouldn't believe me," Collins said gravely. "But I can prove it. You see, I know that there was a big gold robbery in 1979. Sterling Assets, you remember it?"

Harry looked dazed, but Mick chipped in, "Yeah, that's right. Bent security guard let 'em in and they vanished with over three million."

Collins nodded. "That's right. For a long time, hardly any of the loot will be recovered. Until 2006, then the cops'll hit the jackpot. Over 80 per cent of the swag will be found under the floorboards in an abandoned factory near Heathrow, that's being demolished when the airport's increasing its capacity."

Harry scowled. "So why are you telling me this, Mr Buck Rogers?"

"I was, I _will be_, part of the team that discovers the gold. But now I'm here, after it was stolen and before it'll be discovered. So I'm in the unique position of knowing where it is. A cool 2.5 million."

Harry's eyes glittered, and he drew closer to Collins. "So, why're you telling _us_ this?"

"I'll do a deal with you. Let the family go, and take me away as your hostage. I'll guide you to where the gold's hidden. We'll split it five ways, half a million each. Then we can all vanish."

Gene's heart sank into his boots. _God help us, this one's turned corrupt on his first day. How Keats would laugh, if he knew. Probably he does, wherever he is. _His trigger finger itched, but he restrained himself. If he opened fire now, the family would be doomed. If he waited, there still might be a chance to arrest the Kempsters and Collins after they left the flat. _And I might be able to turn the daft bastard around yet. Chris was a traitor, but I forgave him and he made good._

"Bent cop?" Harry still sounded deadly suspicious. "Sounds too good to be true."

"Not bent. Out of place. I told you, I don't belong here. I need to get away somewhere, where I can have peace and quiet to think all this through, and work out how I can get back home."

"Yeah." Harry grinned."I 'ear the Costa Brava is very nice this time of year."

"Indeed."

"Or Torremolinos." Harry barked a laugh, and Collins flinched instinctively as a cloud of bad breath engulfed him. "How old d'you think I am - four or forty?" He punched Collins in the gut, and he bent over with a groan.

"Hang on, Harry." Mick had turned away from the hostages and laid a hand on his arm. "What if 'e's telling the truth? Could be saying goodbye to two an' a half mill."

"Don't tell me he's bitten you in the leg," Harry said nastily. The two brothers were close together now, and nobody was covering the cowering hostages. Gene could have taken them out, but Collins was in the way, and he would not shoot his new charge. That would consign the boy to Hell, before he had been given any chance to redeem himself.

"Nah, not the Doctor Who stuff. But what if 'e was on the inside on the Sterling job an' knows where they put the gold?"

"Quite so." Collins straightened up, and suddenly his right foot shot out and struck Harry under the chin. He went down like a ninepin, just as Collins whirled around and felled Mick with a kick to the side of the head. Don spun around from the window and fired, but Collins had already dived sideways, flinging himself over the mother and her screaming children, shielding them with his body. Gene rushed into the room, firing as he came, but Don was already heading for the door to the inside stairs. Terry jumped out to intercept him, and Don shoved him hard against the doorframe. He slid down, and Don hurtled out of the door, down the stairs, and out of the back door, with Gene in hot pursuit and Collins pounding after them.

Don charged across the overgrown yard, pushing springy branches out of his way which lashed Gene and Collins in the face while they gave chase. Spotting the loose board, he dived through the gap, kicking it shut behind him and nearly knocking Gene dateless as he tried to follow. Collins scrambled over the fence, just in time to see Don disappearing through Mrs Heston's back door. He charged after him, yelling, "Stop! Police!" A marksman fired, and the shot whistled past Collins's ear as he ran into the house. It suddenly occurred to him that none of the marksmen had seen him before, or knew that he was a police officer. They could easily take him for one of the gang.

-oO0Oo-

After the door had closed behind Collins, Alex waited in silence, her ears straining for any thread of sound that might give her a clue as to what was happening inside the flat. After a couple of minutes, Don replaced Harry at the window, and she knew that Collins must be in the room. She tried to speak to Don, but he ignored her, and she fell silent. She dared not risk further endangering the child on the ledge or counter-acting whatever negotiations Collins might be making inside.

Suddenly Don disapppeared and a shot rang out, followed by another which shattered the window, and the children inside screamed. If she had not known that she was already dead, Alex would have been convinced that her heart had stopped at that moment.

_Oh, God, is Gene in there? Has he been hurt? Have I come back, only to lose him now?_

The firemen with the jump sheet raced forward, shouting to the little girl on the ledge to jump, and fortunately she did not hesitate. She landed safely in the sheet, shrieking dismally, and Alex and Poirot rushed over to her.

"It's all right, dear." Alex gathered her in her arms, drowning for one blissful moment in the fresh, clean, childish scent, lost in memories of another little girl. "You'll be all right now. You've been brave, so brave - "

"I want my mummy!"

"_Boss?_" Terry's voice issued from Alex's radio.

"Terry?" She shifted the child to her hip and tore her radio from her pocket. "What the hell's going on? Where's the Guv?"

"_All hostages safe and unhurt, Boss. Collins knocked out Harry and Mick, and the Guv took out Ken. He and Collins 'ave taken off after Don, he got out through the back garden -_ "

_"Armed suspect about to emerge from 68 Brook Street!"_

-oO0Oo-

Outside in Brook Street, all had been quiet. The road had been blocked off at either end with squad cars, and uniform were re-directing traffic. The eerie stillness was pierced, first by the sound of gunshots, then by a bellowed message over their radios. Even as the message came through, Don emerged, shooting, and ran towards Fairlie Street, with Collins behind him and Gene bringing up the rear, all three having to dodge the marksmens' bullets splattering all around them. Don sprayed bullets at the three officers guarding the road block. Two instinctively sprang aside, but the third, a small, slight, fair-haired WPC, launched herself at him, shrieking, "Stop right there!" Don fired one last time and she dropped to the ground, clutching her stomach, just as Gene brought him down in something resembling a rugby tackle, with a yell of "You're nicked!" One of the uniforms went to his aid, while Collins and the other made for the WPC. Collins knelt beside her, tore her jacket and shirt open, and began CPR, but the PC grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him away.

"You are under arrest on suspicion of armed robbery with violence - "

"Don't be a fool, constable!" Collins gasped, never ceasing in the rhythm of resuscitation. "I'm a police officer! DCI Hunt can confirm that."

"Yes, he is." Gene was sitting astride Don and pounding him to a pulp. "That is, what's left of 'im will be, after I've dismantled 'im for disobeying orders."

The PC backed off, mumbling apologies. His fellow had already used his radio to summon the ambulance, but it was not yet in sight. Gene allowed the PCs to cuff Don, and roared another summons for the ambulance into his radio. Collins continued pumping fiercely at the girl's chest.

"Come on, sweetheart, come on, _fight _ - you can do this - don't let that bastard beat you - breathe, damn you - open your eyes for me, I know you're in there somewhere - come on, _open your eyes_, I know you can do it, come on, come _on_..."

He felt giddy from exhaustion, but he would not give up. This might be a dream, but the human life he was fighting to save was as precious as any in the real world. Maybe, if he saved her, he would wake up.

-oO0Oo-

"_Officer down! Get the ambulance round to Brook Street now!_"

Alex paled and nearly dropped her radio. "Oh, God."

"_Female, abdominal bullet wound - _"

"Female?"

"_Tell that ambulance crew to get their arses round 'ere, now! There's a plonk 'ere doin' an impersonation of Count Dracula's latest victim!_"

At the sound of Gene's voice, Alex fairly sagged with relief. "Roger that, Guv." She ached to go to him, but she had a job to finish here first. She looked over her shoulder, to see uniform shifting the squad cars and the ambulance preparing to reverse out into Fairlie Street. "Ambulance on its way."

Terry spoke again. "_I'm bringing the hostages out, Boss,_ _and I need some plod to carry the Kempsters. I've cuffed 'em, but they're out cold._"

"Roger that, Terry." She nodded to Poirot, who barked orders to uniform. "Tell the mother that the little girl who jumped is fine, I've got her here."

"Is my mummy there?"

"_Rachel?_" They could hear the mother's voice in the room with Terry.

"_S'OK, Boss. I'm bringing 'em down._"

Less than a minute later, Terry emerged, carrying the smallest of the children, and with his arm around the woman. The eldest child, the boy, followed behind. All three were wrapped in blankets which Terry had had the presence of mind to take from the beds, but they were obviously in deep shock, and the mother was shivering with a chill that no external warmth could dispel. Seeing the little girl whom Alex held, she gave a shattering sob, stumbled over to them, and seized the child, hugging her close but never close enough, with soft, barely articulate wails of "My baby... my baby..."

_My baby._ Alex stood watching them, a lump forming in her throat. She might never see her own baby again, but at least she had been able to help to reunite this mother and child.

-oO0Oo-

Collins worked on relentlessly, oblivious to anything else. Suddenly he felt the girl twitch beneath his hands and she began to cough. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing the loveliest, most delicate violet eyes he had ever seen. He gasped at the revelation. Then the ambulance crew arrived, swarming all over, gently pushing him to one side. He slumped to the paving stones with spots dancing before his eyes. He was dimly aware that Gene stood over him, staring down at the girl, pale and shocked.

"...name?" Through the thousand bells ringing in his ears, he realised that one of the ambulance crew was speaking to him.

"Don't know 'er name." Gene spoke in a flat monotone. "Never seen 'er before."

"Nor do we, Sir," one of the PCs interjected. "We saw her walking past and asked her to help us man the road block. We were short-handed when the blocks were extended to Brook Street, Sir," he added, withering beneath Gene's gaze.

Collins, his breath still labouring, reached in between the paramedics, felt in her jacket pockets, found a warrant card, and held it out to Gene, who took it and opened it.

"WPC Lisa Craven. Well, nothing craven about 'er," he noted approvingly. "Tackled an armed blagger single 'anded when 'er _male_ colleagues were divin' for cover."

"Please, will you let me go with her to the hospital, Sir?" Collins begged. "She'll be all alone there, we don't even know whom to contact as her next of kin - "

Gene nodded. "Yeah. She's a cop, an' we look after our own. Phone us when you know 'ow she is. 'Ere's my number." He produced a grubby piece of paper from his pocket, scribbled some numbers on it, and gave it to Collins. "After work, try me at that restaurant there, or at 'ome. We'll talk when you get back to CID," he added grimly.

"Thank you so much, Sir."

"I'm your _Guv_, an' don't you forget it. Got any money for phone calls?"

"Don't worry, S - Guv, I've got my iPhone - oh, damn, no, I haven't."

Gene resolved to seek a translation from Alex later. He reached into his pocket and found it empty. "Bugger." He grabbed his radio. "_Drake!_"

-oO0Oo-

Poirot's voice broke through Alex's thoughts. "We should get the whole family to hospital for checking out, Ma'am. Ambulance is busy with the wounded plonk. I'll get a squad car and take 'em." He winked. "I'm a Dad myself, I'm used to dealing with kids. I'll stay with 'em till we know if they'll be discharged tonight, and I'll get a statement from the Mum when she's able to talk. No use trying now."

Alex pulled herself together. "Thanks, Poirot. Find out if you can contact their father and let him know what's happened. If they can't return to the flat tonight, find out if they have anywhere else to stay, relatives or a friend." She turned to Terry. "Well done, Terry. Take statements from the staff and customers in the bookies' and any other witnesses. Radio the station and get Slate to help you if you need to. Radio for Forensics and get them to go over the flat and the bookies'."

Terry nodded. "Right away, Ma'am."

A PC approached. "Ma'am? The white van here appears to be the Kempsters' getaway vehicle. All the other vehicles parked here belong to locals and delivery men, but nobody knows this one."

"Good work, Constable. Have it removed and impounded until Forensics can go over it. Remove the road blocks and allow the residents to return home, but leave the bookies' and the flat cordoned off and keep them guarded until Forensics have finished there."

"Yes, Ma'am." The PC saluted and withdrew.

"Terry, another job for you. Radio the van's registration number to Bammo and get him to check it out. I'd put money on its having been stolen."

"Roger that, Ma'am."

While Alex was issuing her orders, Poirot approached the huddled family and spoke to the mother. Whatever he said appeared to reassure her, because she allowed him to lead her and the children towards a nearby squad car.

"_Drake!_"

She grabbed her radio. "Guv?"

"What's 'appening round there?"

"All wrapping up, Guv. We've got Harry, Ken and Mick, and their getaway van. I've told plod to remove the road blocks and let the residents back home, Poirot's taking the family to hospital, Terry's sent for Forensics and he's taking witness statements."

"Good. Shift your sorry arse round 'ere to Brook Street, toot suite."

"Roger that, Guv." She pocketed her radio and set off at a run.

-oO0Oo-

Seeing Gene standing there, safe and sound, it was all she could do, not to fling her arms around him and weep with relief, but she knew how little he would appreciate any public demonstration of affection. Collins knelt on the pavement beside him, his hands and clothes streaked with blood, and the paramedics were tending the wounded WPC. Alex looked towards her.

"How is she, Guv?"

"Don't know 'til they get 'er to hospital." He spoke mechanically, and she glanced at him sharply. He looked as though he had seen a ghost.

"What happened?"

"We were chasing Don, an' she jumped out an' tried to stop 'im. Got 'is bullet in 'er gut." Alex nodded her understanding. _Just like me. This has brought Operation Rose back for him. Is that why he's so rattled? _

"Got any money?"

Whatever she had been expecting him to say next, it was not that. "Guv?"

"Superman 'ere's goin' to the hospital with 'er, an' he hasn't got any cash on 'im."

"Oh." She felt in her pockets and produced some loose change. Collins, who still looked exhausted, hauled himself to his feet,and she pressed the money into his hand. "Here are some 10p pieces for phone calls, and take this £10 note." He looked at her, dazed. "You'll need it for tea, coffee, food if you're there any length of time." She was conscious of speaking to him as though he were a child. His bewildered expression reminded her so much of herself, on her first day in 1981. _He'll get used to it, poor kid, just as I did. He'll have to_.

"Give 'er the change when you get back," Gene put in.

"Thank you." The ambulance's siren started up, and Collins pocketed the money and raced to jump on board before it took off.

Gene and Alex stood, watching it leave. Around them, residents were returning home and cops were pulling squad cars out. Life was returning to normal. Gene still looked stunned.

"Gene." Her voice was soft and urgent. "What's wrong?"

His eyes met hers. "The girl. She's one of us."

TBC


	3. A New Face in the Restaurant

**A/N I still don't own Ashes to Ashes, which is why I'm writing fanfics.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has read, and especially those who have reviewed, the first two chapters. I really appreciate it. Please keep reading and keep the reviews coming!**

"One of us?" Alex questioned softly. "Do you mean - "

"Not now, Drake. Not here."

She understood. The place was still swarming with coppers, local residents and passers-by. Whatever Gene had discovered, it was obviously imperative that nobody else should hear it. She nodded slightly, and he jerked his head in the direction of the car. "We'll get back to Fenchurch an' see if the Kempsters are conscious enough to be interviewed. An' on the way, you can be telling me 'ow dumbcluck Collins got himself into a hostage situation. He may think 'e's got 'imself off the hook by goin' to the hospital, but when 'e gets back it'll be Frying Tonight."

To Gene's annoyance, they had to share the Cortina with three terrified PCs on the journey back to the station, because Poirot had appropriated a squad car. Their stifled groans of terror whenever he took a corner entertained Alex, but infuriated him. On returning to the station, Gene disappeared into his office. Alex made tea for them both and joined him. As she entered the office, she saw him putting a piece of paper into his desk drawer and closing it. She was about to ask him what it was, but she caught his warning glance and fell silent. She guessed that he did not want to talk about Lisa while there was still any possibility of their being overheard, so while they drank their tea, she launched into an honest account of the events which had led to Collins being taken as a hostage.

"It was partly my fault, Guv. Once I realised he was still hiding behind the squad car with Poirot, it seemed safer to leave him there and hope he wouldn't give himself away. Then Harry offered to take me as a hostage in place of the family, but with the rider that the four of them could have what they called some _fun_ with me before they let me go."

"He did _WHAT_?"

"You heard. Jason jumped up and startled both Harry and me out of three years' growth. I thought Harry would start shooting, but Jason managed to talk Harry into taking him instead. We don't know anything about his previous career yet, but it looks as though we could have another hostage negotiator on our hands."

Gene swallowed his tea, and Alex could see him struggling to conceal his horror at the thought of her in the Kempsters' clutches. "Looks like I'll 'ave to knock 'im down an' pick 'im up again."

"But what happened in there? I heard gunshots - "

"I didn't realise the daft twonk wasn't with me, till Terry an' I were in Fairlie Street, an' by then it was too late to go back for 'im. We got access through a shop backin' on to the bookies'. Ken was on guard, an' we used, um, distraction to knock 'im out. When I got up to the flat, Sonny-Boy was telling Harry 'e came from the future."

"Oh, my _God_."

"Got 'em confused an' then kicked Harry an' Mick in the head. Knocked 'em cold."

"Sounds like a martial arts expert."

"Marital arts?"

"Martial arts, you one track minder."

"Oh, well, worth a try. Don an' I fired at each other, an' he legged it an' shot that plonk while we were chasing 'im."

Alex hung her head. "I'm sorry, Guv. I should have tried harder to stop Jason going in."

"Yeah, you should," he said grimly. "You've got_ responsibilities_ 'ere, and - " He broke off as they saw Terry entering CID and heading towards the office.

"Come in, Terry. What's up?"

Terry looked well pleased with himself. "The Kempsters are in the cells, Guv. I've got statements from the staff and customers in the bookies' and three other eyewitnesses. Bammo's got an ID on the getaway van, it was stolen in Shepherds Bush two days ago. The owner had reported the theft. Forensics are going over it now, and the bookies' and the flat. Poirot's just phoned to say that the mother's being detained in hospital. He's got in touch with her husband, he's a builder's labourer on a site in Docklands, and he's come to pick the kids up. Her sister can take care of them till she's out. Hospital are talking about counselling, so it could be a few days till she's OK to give her statement."

"Good work, Terry." Gene radiated approval. "More than enough evidence to charge the bastards with a list of crimes as long as the arm of the law. We can get 'er statement when she's well enough."

Terry's pocket emitted a strange sound, and it looked for a moment as though it had developed a life of its own. Gene and Alex were both sure that they saw him silently saying, "Bugger."

"Terry, what's that in your pocket?" Gene said suspiciously.

Terry had plainly decided that outrageous innocence was the best policy. "What's what in my pocket, Guv?"

"That." Gene's finger stabbed at the offending pocket. "Don't tell me it's your radio making a break for freedom. And _what's that noise_?"

The pocket struggled again and its occupant poked a small, sleepy head out to gaze wonderingly at its surroundings. Alex promptly lost her mind. So, in a different way, did Gene.

"Oh, isn't it _adorable_!"

"TERRY! _What the BLOODY 'ELL is that cat doing in my office?_"

Terry flinched, but stood his ground. "It's the kitten who helped us nail Ken Kempster, Guv. I found it in the garden when I was cuffing him." He sensibly did not say that he had found the kitten rubbing itself affectionately against the unconscious blagger's ankles.

"I _know _what it is. What's it doing here?"

"Well, Guv, you did say there'd be a tin of Whiskas for him if we caught Ken - "

"Yeah. I did. You can take it right back where you found it an' give Mrs Heston a fiver to feed it."

Alex made a murmur of protest, but Gene ignored it. Terry was starting to wilt, and beads of sweat began to form on his brow. "She says the litter's homeless, Guv, their mum's abandoned them."

"Oh, Gene, you can't - "

"So what are you goin' to do with it, after you've fed it? Take it 'ome?"

Terry paled. "I can't, Guv. I live in a flat, and the landlord doesn't allow pets."

Gene's voice dropped to a husky growl, and the veins were beginning to stand out on his forehead. "So?"

"Errr - "

"Terry." His voice assumed a dangerous, mock-pleading tone. "Tell me you weren't thinking of keeping it 'ere. Tell me that, an' I'll forgive you."

Terry was cornered, and he knew it. "Er - "

"This is a _police station_, in case you 'adn't noticed! Not the Fenchurch branch of the PDSA!"

"I'm sorry, Guv, I just thought - "

"No. You _didn't_ think." He erupted like Old Faithful. "You took the little bugger away from the only 'ome it's ever known, with no idea of what you're planning to do with it after you've given it its can of pet food. Of all the silly, sentimental, irresponsible - bloody 'ell, you could almost be Ch - " He choked on the name and could not continue.

"Chris," Alex finished quietly. Gene could not move or speak. Nor could Terry.

The tense silence was broken by a plaintive meow. The sound seemed to penetrate the wall of grief around Gene, and he shook his head, pulling himself together.

"Take it to Skip an' tell 'im to feed it. Then take it right back where you found it. But if I find it 'ere tomorrow you'll jump so high they'll enrol you in the Space Shuttle programme. _Got that_?"

"Yes, Guv," Terry said meekly, grateful to have been let off so lightly, and he fled.

Gene and Alex stood in silence for a few minutes while he struggled to control himself. At last she ventured to lay a hand on his sleeve.

"We have to remember them," she said gently. "For our sakes as well as theirs."

There was another silence, then he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. Come on, let's go an' interview ourselves some Kempsters."

The interviews were short - necessarily so in Harry's case, to save themselves from being poisoned by his breath - sharp, and in Don's case, brutal. Given the volume of evidence against them, all that was needed was to charge them, but Gene had no compunction in relieving his grief and rage with the world, by using the attempted murderer of an unarmed WPC as his punchbag. Alex, horrified, at first tried to stop him, but then walked out of the room and left him to it. Better than anyone else, she understood the demons raging within him, which he needed to quell. _After all_, she reasoned to herself, _if this world is all in Gene's mind, does Don even exist to be hurt?_ But in a surprisingly short time Gene had had enough and had the bruised and bleeding Don returned to his cell. Even beating up a cop shooter had lost its savour. It reminded him too much of Ray. He cleaned the blood from his knuckles, returned to his office, and set to work on his report of the Kempsters' blag and siege.

Shortly before beer o'clock, his phone rang.

"Hunt."

"Guv, it's Jason Collins here. I'm at Westminster Hospital. WPC Craven's out of theatre."

"How is she?"

"I've just had a word with the surgeon. He says she's remarkably lucky, all things considered. She lost a lot of blood, and they've had to extract the bullet and repair her small intestine, but no other major organs were damaged. He says she has someone up there looking out for her."

"Must 'ave."

"She's in recovery now. He thinks she'll be all right so long as they can control any infections. They're pumping her full of antibiotics for that. But she'll be in hospital for a couple of weeks at least."

"Just so long as she's all right, that's all that matters."

"I'm staying here for tonight, Guv. Someone should be with her when she wakes up. We still don't know her next of kin or even her address. All she had on her was her warrant card."

"Yeah, you do that. One of us'll be round there tomorrow morning. Where is she?"

"I said, Westminster Hospital."

"It's a big place, Dolly Daydream!"

"Oh. Hyde Ward."

"It figures." The pips sounded. "See you tomorrow, Collins."

"Good night, Guv." The phone cut off. Gene hung up and sat still for a couple of minutes, deep in thought. Then he rose, walked to the door, flung it open, and addressed the office at large.

''Drake, gentlemen. The plonk who was shot today, Lisa Craven. Collins is with 'er at the hospital. He's just phoned to say that they've operated, an' it looks as though she'll be all right." There was a perceptible lightening of atmosphere. "He's stayin' with 'er tonight. Her transfer papers were on my desk when I got back 'ere."

"Guv?" Alex was about to say more, but he shook his head slightly.

"Yeah, they were on my desk when I got back, along with Collins's. She's our replacement for - Shaz." It was an effort for him to speak the name, but the general sense of surprise throughout the office meant that few noticed it. "Means we'll be making our own tea for a few weeks."

Slate spoke up. "We'll get up a collection for her, Guv. Flowers and chocolates. We haven't met her yet, but she's our colleague."

"Well said, Jack. I'll go and see her tomorrow morning." Alex spoke with decision. "If we make the collection now, I can buy the things on the way."

"Yeah. Good thought, Drake. I've told Collins one of us'll be round there tomorrow."

Bammo fetched a tea tin from the kitchen and went around the desks for contributions, and Jimmy nipped out to buy a card which everyone signed. Alex was impressed to see how Lisa had achieved a reputation at the station, even before setting foot in it. It boded well. Her mind was buzzing with questions, but she knew that they would have to be answered later.

On the way out at beer o'clock, Gene stopped at the Skip's desk for a word with Paul, and pretended not to notice the kitten, sleeping blissfully under the desk in a nest of old woollens taken from Lost and Found. Alex smiled to herself but said nothing.

It gave her a sharp pang to see Luigi's familiar awning gone from the restaurant, replaced by a smart new blue awning with ALEXANDER'S across the front. There was a lump in her throat at the knowledge that Luigi would not be behind the bar, smiling his usual greeting. So much had changed, so much had gone. But Gene was still there beside her, and that mattered more than anything else in that world.

She steeled herself to follow Gene down the stairs. But, to her surprise and delight, the interior of the restaurant still looked virtually the same, although some of the strings of lights and the plastic fruit had been removed. It was its old self, only smarter.

Gene nudged her. "Were you expecting it to look like Hiroshima after the bomb?"

She shook her head, trying not to cry. "No, I - I thought that it would all be different." She had had a mental picture of the beloved, naff, cosy decor replaced by bleak, white-painted walls, steel tables, and harsh strip lighting.

"No, a lot of things are still the same. Including the 'ouse rubbish, 'cept it costs more now." He led her towards their old corner table.

"_Che bella ragazza!_" The young man who approached them wore a gleaming white tuxedo and stood at least six feet five, as slim as a gazelle, with a face that Leonardo might have drawn and sloe-black hair and eyes. Even with Gene at her side, Alex was conscious that her knees were weakening and that she was silently uttering, "Wow!"

"Good evening, Mr Hunt." The beautiful vision spoke perfect BBC English with a bewitching lilt which somehow combined the Mediterranean with the North of England. "Won't you introduce me to your lovely companion?"

Alex was amused to see that Gene was almost steaming with jealousy. "Drake, meet Alexander, new purveyor to this parish of overpriced Italian muck."

The young man smiled in recognition. "So this is the famous Signora Drake! My uncle has told me so much about you."

"Uncle?" Alex looked across at Gene, confused.

"Oh, hasn't he told you? I'm Luigi's nephew."

"_Really?_" Alex was enchanted to find another link with the past. "He hadn't told us that he had any relatives over here."

Alexander laughed. "I come from the Northern branch of the family. I've been working as a waiter at my father's restaurant in Oldham. Not quite Manchester, but close," he added, with a graceful nod in Gene's direction.

"Greater Manchester. Good enough," Gene acknowledged, returning the nod very curtly.

"Both he and I thought that I should start in the catering business at the bottom of the pile," Alexander continued. "But when my uncle came into his money and wanted to go home to claim it as soon as possible, he rang us and suggested that he lease this restaurant to me. He remains the landlord and charges me a nominal rent. It keeps the business in the family and reduces my costs, and he didn't have to wait to find a buyer before leaving. I jumped at the chance so fast, that I barely stopped to pack a suitcase and kiss my wife and _bambini_ a temporary goodbye before rushing down here. A few signatures on documents, and the place was mine."

Alex could feel Gene's silent relief that Alexander was married, and sensed that he was eyeing her for some sign of disappointment. She knew better than to risk giving him ammunition by teasing him. Whatever might happen tonight, it would be too important to risk marring it with an unnecessary quarrel.

"Welcome to London, Alexander." She held out her hand, and he shook it gravely. "Luigi brought you here, and that means a lot. We all love him dearly, and if you ever have any news of him, we'd be grateful if you could share it with us."

"Of course I will, Signora Drake."

"I'm Alex, so I hope we don't find the similarity in our names too confusing."

"Ah, well, my real name's Alessandro, and everyone in my family calls me Sandro, so I hope you will too."

She smiled. "It'll be a pleasure, Sandro."

"I hope you'll all consider me an adequate replacement for my uncle," he said quietly.

"Improving the 'ouse rubbish might 'elp," Gene muttered.

"I hope I haven't tried to make changes here too soon. I know I risk alienating the existing clientele by giving the place a new name and a new menu. I'm calling it Alexander's, not Alessandro's, in an attempt to show that my menu unites classic Italian and English cuisine. My uncle left me his special recipes for his Italian dishes, so you will still have your spaghetti bolognese, veal scallopine and sea scallops with pineapple rings."

"But not steak an' chips pizza, I 'ope?" Gene said sarcastically.

"Heavens, no. _Real_ steak and chips and other classic English dishes. Shepherd's pie, stew with dumplings, fish and chips, roast chicken, steak and kidney pie, sausages and mash, duck with orange, rack of lamb with mint sauce, steak and kidney pudding - "

"Sounds good," Gene admitted.

"I may make some changes to the décor later, it depends upon what my wife has to say when she arrives next week with the children."

"How many children do you have?" Alex felt a tightening in her throat as she thought of Molly.

"Two. Both little girls. Emilia's four and Maria's one. Teresina will have them in aprons and wielding skillets before long. She's my business partner, she's from another dynasty of Italian restauranteurs. She could make a world-beating zabaglione almost as soon as she could walk. She may want to make the place look more modern. But I like that mural, so I'll try to keep it."

"Good," Alex said sincerely. "So do we."

"What about the new tenant for the top floor flat? Is he not dining with you tonight?"

Gene shook his head. "No, a colleague was shot today, and 'e's staying overnight at the hospital with 'er. He'll be moving in tomorrow."

"Fine. I've had the place cleaned up, and I'll put a few supplies in the larder for him." Sandro signed to a waiter, who brought them two menus. "Pardon me for chattering so much. I'll leave you to decide what you want to eat."

"Steak an' chips," Gene said with decision. "With the steak well done. An' a bottle of 'ouse rubbish. What about you, Bols? Veal scallopine?"

"Actually, I think I'll go for the steak and kidney pudding."

Sandro smiled. "At once. It's on the house."

-oO0Oo-

"Disappointed to find 'e's booked already?" Gene growled to Alex as they sank their first glasses of house rubbish while waiting for their food.

Alex smiled. "Of course not. I can appreciate that he's good-looking, of course, but he's far too young for me, and I'm no cradle-snatcher. Who wants a boy when I have a man of men?"

"Hm." Gene tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal his pleasure. "You'll 'ave me blushing."

"That was the idea."

The waiter brought their food, and they fell to. Alex cut the suet crust of her pudding open, and sighed appreciatively as chunks of meat and kidney, and rich gravy, poured forth.

"Looks good," Gene observed with his mouth full. "Steak's not bad, either. Wouldn't 'ave thought that pud was your thing. Thought you were more into that foie grass an' crab biscuits stuff."

"It is, usually," she agreed. "For me, this is comfort food. My mother used to make a wonderful steak and kidney pudding, so now, whenever I'm eating it, I feel that it's a link to her."

Gene was about to ask a question, but thought better of it. It was something else which would have to be addressed later. He nodded and ploughed into his steak while Alex demolished her pudding. She ate like a starving wolf, and he wondered when she had last eaten a decent meal. She had never had enough meat on her, but now she was thin enough for him to break her in two between his fingers. It brought home to him, how deeply unhappy she had been. He silently resolved to take better care of her in future, and to make her take better care of herself. She was his responsibility now.

Alex finished her meal before Gene was done with his, and while she waited for him to catch up, she looked around the restaurant, filled with a sense of coming home. But it seemed empty. She looked at a vacant circular table for two beside an arch, and visualised Chris and Shaz sitting there, finding the courage to look in each other's eyes, as they had done the night after taking down Layton and his gang. She sighed and looked away to CID's long tables. The rest of the team were there as normal, but the chair where Ray had always sat, was empty. The atmosphere was muted, with none of the usual raucousness and drunkenness, and none of the air of celebration habitually attending the night after a major take-down. Given that a colleague had been severely wounded and was still in hospital, that was understandable, but she knew that there was more to it than that. _It isn't just Gene and I who have lost the three of them. The whole team's in mourning. But life - or life after death - must go on._

_Only he and I know the truth about what's really_ _happened. I wonder what he's told the team? Something else to ask him when we're alone._

The sound system blared mournfully.

_"...Will things ever be the same again?_

_It's the final countdown..."_

She looked at Gene, who was scraping his plate. He met her gaze, his own expressionless. She could sense the pain and loss that he would not allow himself to show.

"I know," he said quietly. No more needed to be said.

A tall shadow fell across them, and Alex, her nerves stretched taut, almost jumped before Sandro said, "Was everything satisfactory?"

She pulled herself together and managed a smile. "Yes, thank you, delicious."

"Good. Wait until Teresina's here. Her Pollo Parmigiana is to die for." Alex managed not to wince. "Allow me to offer you dessert on the house."

"Thanks. I'll take the ice cream, please. Gene?"

"Chocolate cake."

They consumed their desserts and coffee in silence. She noticed that, for once, Gene was restricting his alcohol intake. Normally, he would have spent the night getting roaring drunk to numb the agony of his loss. But she knew that he was as impatient to be gone as she was. He drank the last of his coffee, put the cup down, and looked her in the eye.

"Unfinished business, Bolly."

"Yeah."

**TBC**


	4. I Want The Truth To Be Told

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. Nor do I own the shooting scripts for Series 3 Episodes 7 and 8 and the first draft for Series 1 Episode 1, all of which are on the Monastic website, the additional material on the BBC website, nor the answers given by Matthew Graham and Ashley Pharaoh to the Q&A at the Theatre Royal, Bath on 27 October last year, upon all of which I have drawn for this chapter.**

**Apologies for the long delay in posting this chapter - I'd hoped to post it well before this, but a busted immersion heater dictated otherwise (no heating and no hot water for a fortnight). I was also sidetracked into dashing off my entry, "Burning Inside", for XTimeGirlX's songfic contest! I realise that Chapter 3 was somewhat frustrating to readers because it didn't answer any of the questions raised during the story so far. That's because a lot of the answers come in this, the first of two crucial, and very long, chapters which set the agenda for the rest of the story (the other will be Chapter 6). In it, I've sought to explain some of the things which to my mind were never satisfactorily explained in the series, and to set out the ground rules for the Geneverse in this story (which diverge once or twice from what M&A have said). I've also tried to work out some of my continuing sorrow and frustration over the ending of Series 3. ****Acknowledgements to Solo Lady for giving me the reference to "The Screwtape Letters."**

**Continued thanks to everyone who is reading, faveing, alerting and (especially) reviewing this story - I would be especially grateful for feedback as to whether this enormous chapter works or not, as I've sweated blood over it!**

**The opera quote is from Pietro Mascagni's "Cavalleria Rusticana", libretto by Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci. The translation is mine. "True" was composed by Gary Kemp and performed by Spandau Ballet.**

**Sorry, the next chapter will be a few weeks away as I'm about to start work on another music review with a tight deadline - but at least I'm leaving you with a nice long chapter to be going on with. Normal service (and normal length chapters) will resume as soon as possible.**

**Massive doses of Galex ahead!**

They climbed the stairs together, and she felt the erratic beat of her heart. Outside the door, she reached into her pocket for her key, only to find that she did not have it. She had left it behind in her headlong flight on that terrible night when Keats had driven them apart, and she had not returned there since. Gene silently produced his key and handed it to her, and she unlocked the door. He entered the flat ahead of her, and turned to face her as she followed him inside, closed the door, and leaned against it, looking up at him with glittering eyes.

"Tonight I want this world to be only the two of us."

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "But in case you 'adn't noticed, there's a small herd of elephants in the room."

Her lips curved in a small smile. "The baby elephant sitting on the coffee table's awfully sweet."

For a split second he looked at her as though she had taken leave of her senses at last, then he relaxed as he caught the gleam in her eye. "Bloody mad fruitcake woman. We've got to get 'em all out of 'ere."

"Yes." She was completely serious. "So many of the misunderstandings, the rifts, the rows, the tragedies, the things that have come between us, have been because of what we haven't been able to tell each other, or haven't known to tell each other."

"Yeah." He turned and led her through to the living room, switching lights on as he went. A half-hearted attempt had been made to begin clearing her belongings away, and the living room was dotted with half-full cardboard boxes.

"It's as well you didn't get any further with packing up my stuff," she remarked, looking about her. "Doesn't look as though you've been trying very hard. It shouldn't take me long to unpack and put everything back." He grunted his assent as he took a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge and brought them through to the living room. "How come you've been living here, anyway? You have your own place."

"Yeah, well..." He looked embarrassed and made himself look very busy with opening the bottles. "This is convenient for the station, an' after you'd gone, I, er, didn't want anyone else in 'ere." She smiled and nodded her understanding. _He didn't want to get rid of my things, either. He didn't want to forget_ _me._

He handed her a bottle and clinked his against it. "You an' me, Bolly."

"You and me." They both drank, but not deeply, and set their bottles down on the coffee table. Gene subsided onto the sofa, and Alex sat beside him, twisted sideways, one leg tucked beneath her, resting her head on her hand, gazing at him.

He turned his head towards her. "What are you lookin' at?"

"You."

"Got good taste."

"I know." She smiled for a moment, then looked very serious. "All the time I was in the Railway Arms, I thought I'd never see you again, never return here again. Now, here we are. It's like a miracle. But I'm still half afraid that if I reach out to touch you, you'll disappear, and I'll wake up in the Railway Arms to find that it was all a dream, and I still have to face the nightmare of an eternity without you."

"I won't disappear," he said gruffly."You're stuck with me." He reached out and took her hand very firmly, and felt her relax.

"Thank God." She sighed deeply.

"Come on. Confession time."

"Yes." She pushed the coffee table away with her foot, chucked the cushion she had been holding onto the floor, sent another to join it, and slid off the sofa to settle onto them, sitting at his feet, holding his hands, their fingers entwined. Almost as though she were a child, to whom he was about to tell a story. At any other time he might have been ready with a quip about having her on her knees in front of him at last, but for once he restrained himself. Tonight was too important to them both, for him to risk ruining the fragile atmosphere between them. The air thrummed with memories of their last time together in the flat. So much had changed since then. _They_ had changed, beyond imagining. He wondered if they would be able to make their relationship work.

"There mustn't be any secrets between us now." She was gazing up at him. "If there are, Keats could use them to drive us apart again, and that could destroy us and the coppers you guard. We must promise each other. Only the truth from now on, however painful it is."

"Yeah." His grip on her hands tightened. "Only the truth. Promise."

"_I want the truth to be said,_" she quoted softly, a sad smile flitting across her face.

"Yeah. You'll 'ave more questions than I will, so I'll give you a starter for ten."

Her eyes were enormous. "First, Gene, tell me. What is this world? You said, somewhere coppers go to sort themselves out. But did you invent it? Is all this inside your head? Your fantasy?"

He returned her searching gaze. "That was Keats called it, but no, it's more than that. I didn't create this place. That gun went off in '53, an' I found myself 'ere. God, Bols, I can still remember 'ow I felt. The rage, the injustice of it all. Must'ave been more than Authority 'ad ever 'ad to cope with before. It got me this job."

"You've given up your own chance of Paradise to help others," Alex said, deeply moved.

He looked away. This was reminding him too much of that moment of revelation in the farmhouse. "Someone has to do it. Most of 'em struggle to tie their own shoelaces. They need me."

"You're sacrificing your own hope of eternal rest. Oh, God, and to think that I let Keats make me believe that you'd imprisoned us all in your fantasy."

"Made my blood boil, hearing Keats say that. The bastard made it sound as though I'd kept all of you trapped 'ere to play with you, as though you were toys like the Dinky cars on my desk. My reason for being 'ere is to look after all of you. Only problem was, I'd forgotten too much."

"Because you'd been dead so long."

He nodded, reluctantly. "That, an' - an' because I'd _wanted_ to forget bein' shot in the head an' dumped in a shallow grave. It's easy to forget things when you want to, 'ere."

"Even if you don't want to," she agreed. "There was a time when I started forgetting what Molly looked like, even her name. Then I stopped thinking about her as much as I used to. It wasn't your fault that you forgot."

He looked relieved. "This whole world is a purgatory, Bols. Not only for coppers, for all sorts of people who died with - with _issues_, as you call 'em. I just deal with the coppers who are sent to me. There's a lot I know now, that I didn't know before, but I still don't know everything, not by a long way. That's why we've still got things to learn, adventures to have. It'll be a voyage of discovery for both of us, together. What I _do_ know is that people who've died, or are dying, come 'ere to sort out their problems before they can go on to the next world. It's made of their memories. That's why people who come 'ere, are always coming back to the past. Except for me. I've gone forward, in a time after I died, living it through the memories of the coppers who come to me an' the other people in this world."

"So _everyone_ here is dead, or in a coma?"

He shook his head. "Not everyone. It's 'ard to explain, an' I don't pretend to know everything yet, but the way I see it, people come 'ere to live the lives they weren't allowed to 'ave in the real world. If they got things wrong in their lives, they get the chance 'ere to do 'em right. 'Course, not everyone takes that chance. Kevin Hales was a corrupt PC there an' 'ere. But in the real world Jackie Queen got shot covering a siege, an' 'ere she's survived to become a mum. An' people are sent 'ere to find out things they've got to know before they move on. Their _issues_. To do that, we've got helpers from up top. Nelson's one of 'em, of course. So are Luigi an' Sandro. Like me, they don't always know what they're 'ere for. Nelson knows, but I don't think Luigi ever did, an' it looks like Sandro doesn't, either. An' there are what you call "constructs" in this world too" - he waggled his fingers - "of people that the dead ones knew in the real world."

"Like my parents."

He frowned. "Your parents? Do I know 'em?"

"You did, all too well. They were Tim and Caroline Price."

"Bloody 'ell!" He looked nearly as shocked as he had been in the farmhouse. "Then their little girl - "

"Alex Price. That was me. I met my younger self, just as Sam did. In this world, it was you who saved that child from the horror that destroyed her parents, and shielded her, me, from knowing the truth about why they died. I'll never know who that was in the real world."

Gene swallowed hard. "Jesus, that explains a lot."

"I know."

He shook his head, almost convulsively. "No, you don't. It 'appened years ago, Bols, while I was in Manchester, long before Sam came. Ray 'ad only just joined the team then. We'd been chasing a blagger, an' I lay in wait when 'e doubled back to escape us. Only thing was, 'e saw me do it an' clocked me one with 'is crowbar. I was out like a power cut for twelve hours. But while I'd been unconscious, I'd dreamt that I was standing in a road beside a school, watching a car explode, an' there was a little girl standing on a bank nearby, holding a balloon."

Alex paled. "My God."

"I ran to 'er, took 'er hand, an' sheltered 'er from the blast. I never forgot 'ow that kid clung to me, 'ow she trusted me. I carried 'er away to a red car I didn't recognise, an' drove 'er away. Rest of the dream's blurry, but I remember carrying 'er into an office. I woke up in 'ospital, with a headache like a dozen 'angovers. All I knew was that I'd been somewhere where I was needed." He looked at her very intently. "I forgot it, the way you forget dreams, but when the Price car went up, I recognised it all - the explosion, the girl, the balloon, the red car. But there 'adn't been a beautiful woman in my dream, who fell to 'er knees an' screamed."

Alex struggled to comprehend it. "Because I wasn't there as DI Drake in 1981. Only as eight-year-old Alex Price."

"S'right."

"So - when the bomb exploded, you came to the real world, to save me?"

He seemed dazed. "Looks like it. More things in Heaven an' Earth, Bolly. Authority must 'ave known we were going to be a team, long before we did."

"Yes." She stroked his hand. "When I was eight years old and you had been dead for twenty-eight years, we were already destined to be together."

"Yeah. But when we were in my office, after the kid 'ad gone, you couldn't understand why I'd been at the explosion. I couldn't get my head round that. You'd known the blast would 'appen, even tried arresting the Prices an' questioned Layton, but not that I'd be there. That's why I told you, _I'm everywhere. I was needed and I was there_."

Alex shook her head slightly. "For years I'd thought it was Evan. "

"Evan White?"

"You know, he became my guardian after my parents died."

"Yeah, of course. An' that's why you made friends with 'im an' Caroline."

"Evan and my younger self are constructs, I realise that. Evan's still alive in 2008. But what about my parents? Were they sent to this world, like me, after they died?"

"Don't know, but it looks like it. Sent 'ere to meet you, so that you could find out about them, before they moved on." He had the tact not to mention Tim's likely destination. _Keats'll have him for sure._

"Yes." Alex was close to tears again. "So that I could find out that my mother really loved me. I hope that Molly knows I love her."

He pressed her hand. "She does, Bols. She does."

They were both silent for a few moments while she wiped her eyes. Gene passed her one of the beer bottles, but she waved it away, and he set it down.

"My turn. How did you end up 'ere? That's something I still don't know."

"Arthur Layton," she said grimly. "He killed my parents, and he killed me."

"Great Scargill's ghost!"

Her voice was thin and controlled. "I was driving Molly to school on her twelfth birthday. The seventh of February, 2008. I received a dispatch, saying that a gunman had taken a hostage outside the Tate Modern."

"Where?"

"Bankside Power Station. It's an art gallery in 2008. The gunman was Layton. He recognised me as Caroline Price's daughter." She shuddered. "I was trying to negotiate with him, but then Molly ran to me, and he grabbed her. He dragged her down to the riverside, fired a shot, let her go, and escaped in the confusion. I got Evan to take Molly home, and got back in my car to find Layton hiding in the back. He got me to drive to his boat, the _Princess Di_, and dragged me on board. I heard him phoning someone, I know now that it was Evan and he was trying to blackmail him. I'll never know what Evan said to him, but Layton shot me in the head at point blank range. I woke up on the boat in 1981 dressed as a tart. You know the rest."

"Jesus, Bols. So we're two of a kind. Both shot in the head."

"Yes. Both in the left temple." She caressed his brow tenderly. "When we were dancing, and you kissed my forehead, it was exactly where the bullet struck. It felt like a blessing, as though I had been healed." He bent his head and solemnly kissed her forehead again.

"Oh, Bolly - an' you thought you could live through that?" His voice was heavy with pity.

"It was a pistol, not a shotgun," she said defensively. "And medical science has made huge advances by 2008. I always knew that it would be touch and go. But I heard voices and saw visions so many times, a tramp finding me on the barge, paramedics treating me in the ambulance, the doctors at the hospital. Remember when you found me on the floor in Donna Mitchell's kitchen? I'd just seen the surgeon extracting the bullet from my head. And I saw Molly, and heard her, again and again. It was because of her that I was determined never to give up hope. I fought so hard, so hard..."

"You did," he acknowledged. "Never known anyone fight so 'ard as you. Never known anyone so strong."

She hid her face against their clasped hands. "Not strong enough."

Gene quickly decided to change the subject. "So that's 'ow you knew Layton was Markham's kingpin. An' worked out that 'e was mixed up in your parents' deaths."

"Yes." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "If only I could have known enough to save them."

He stroked her hair. "Calm down, Bols. You couldn't 'ave, no matter how much you knew. You couldn't change what's already happened."

She looked up. "But Sam said that in the real world, Tony Crane murdered his wife in 2003. In your world, Crane was sectioned in 1973 and was still in a mental home in 2006."

"Might not stop the end result. In this world, 'e might get out in 2003 an' kill 'er then."

That gave Alex pause for thought. "Yes. I hadn't thought of it like that. Sam did say that Crane escaped briefly in 2006, and tried to kill him while he was in hospital."

"Right, I'll ask a question out of turn. How did you know Sam?"

"You know that he came from the future, like me."

"Yeah, you coma victims are always the most trouble. You're the only ones who can remember the world you've left, an' you won't stop moaning about it."

"When Sam left you in the railway tunnel during the Johns blag, he awakened from his coma in 2006 and spent several months there. He made a report and a number of tapes of his experiences, which he sent to me. I was collecting material on colleagues who had suffered unusual traumas. That's how I turned up in 1981 knowing about all of you, and thinking that you were all my constructs."

"But Sam came back. How?"

"I'm afraid he killed himself. He walked out of a meeting one day and jumped off the roof of the GMP building. That was when he went back to save you and the others from Johns."

"Poor bastard." Gene bowed his head.

"He died to come back to where he felt most alive," Alex said gently. "He came back to the dead, for Annie. Just as I came back from the Railway Arms, to you. And - and I know that if I'd have been able to get home, I'd have been just like Sam, unable to relate to reality."

"No, not you. You'd 'ave 'ad Molly. You'd 'ave forgotten us, an' this place. Written it off as one of your psychotwattery hallucinations."

She shook her head. "When you shot me, I went into a coma within a coma. I dreamt that I was back home in the hospital, with Molly, but I could see your face in all the TV screens and monitors, and I heard you shouting at me. I had to be sedated. Even later, when I'd been discharged, this place was still more real to me than that world. I heard all of you calling me, I kept dreaming about you. I had to send Molly away to her father so that I could deal with it. I know now, I could only do that because I knew that I was in a coma. I could never have sent her away in real life, no matter how confused I felt. But if I'd really got back home, I'd have left a part of myself behind here. I would never have been able to escape the spell. Just like Sam. Even with Molly there." She swallowed hard. "Your turn."

His brow creased with bewilderment. "Bols, what's an iPhone?"

"A _what_?"

"An iPhone. Collins keeps on moaning about his."

"It's a mobile."

"Mobile what?"

"Mobile phone. Come 2008, everyone will have them." He looked blank. "They work like little police radios, but they have all sorts of gizmos. Cameras, radios and so on." A tear rolled unbidden down her cheek. "Evan had got Molly a Blackberry for her birthday, that's a very top-of-the-range smartphone with camera, video, internet and e-mail capability."

"You've lost me."

"Sorry. Apple brought out the iPhone in 2007. Jason must come from then or later."

"He said 2010 when 'e was talking to the Kempsters today." He reached for the nearest bottle, took a swig of beer, and set it down. "Your turn."

"Gene, forgive me for asking you this, and I promise that I will accept whatever you say as true, but I have to know. Did you know that you were keeping me from Molly?"

Blue eyes gazed steadfastly into hazel. "No. No, I didn't. Not until the very end, when - y'know, when I remembered everything. I knew I had to keep you with me, but I didn't know why, until then."

She sighed deeply. "Thank you for that. It means more to me than I can say. You once said to me, _You're not going anywhere unless I say so. And I don't say so_. I've been so afraid that that meant that you knew."

"No. But I do know now, why I 'ad to keep you 'ere. It was because, if you'd gone back, you'd 'ave been a bloody vegetable."

She clapped one hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God. I never thought of that. I was so determined to get home, and I never thought - "

"You'd 'ave got 'ome, but you'd 'ave been fit for nothing but a grocer's barrow."

"My God." She could not look at him. "I'd have been a burden to Molly. It would have even been worse for her, and for Evan, than my death."

He nodded. "Way I get it, you wouldn't even 'ave known she was there. Blind, deaf, paralysed, fed through a tube, wired up to more machines than Frankenstein's monster, mind of a six-month-old - "

"Stop it! Stop!" She hid her face in her hands.

"Sorry, Bols. But the doctors'll 'ave told 'er all that after you died. She'll know it was better for you, an' for 'er."

She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. "But they were so certain that I'd be all right."

"Even the quacks can get it wrong," he said gently. "You'd 'ave died in this world too, if I hadn't brought you round from that coma."

She nodded. "I thought so. When you woke me up, I'd just had a vision of myself lying in a hospital bed, and the clock was at 9.06. That was - that was the time I…" She could not go on.

"I know," he said quietly. "Didn't know at the time why I was 'itting you. All I knew was that I 'ad to wake you up, an' I did. Only time I've ever hit a bird. Can't tell you 'ow much I hated myself for that. An' I didn't even apologise."

"You did. In the garage."

"That was apologising for shooting you. I never said sorry for slappin' you one." He looked away. "I've always 'ad my principles, Bols, an' not hitting women's one of 'em. Saw Dad using my Mam as a punchbag too often."

She was silent for a few moments, trying to deal with that. He remained quite still. "I should have known I wouldn't get back," she said at last, her voice pale and scratchy. "I had so many messages. Just after I first came here, I saw - someone - telling Molly that I was never coming back. I heard her voice saying that I shouldn't fight to wake up, it would hurt too much. That I'd never make it to her birthday party. Then when you found me here after Louise was kidnapped - remember?"

" 'Course I do. I tried to bring you round, an' you screamed an' sat up. Nearly broke me nose."

Her face was sombre. "I'd dreamt that I was in a coffin, with a glass window over my face. I saw the earth landing on the glass..." Her voice broke. "Only it wasn't a dream. It was reality. And still I wouldn't accept it, until we were outside the Railway Arms. Stubborn, stubborn _fool_ that I was."

"Strongest fool I've ever bloody known." The kindness of his voice belied the harshness of his words.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I fought so hard, and all for nothing."

"I'm sorry, Bols." She had rarely heard his voice sound so gentle.

She struggled to control her tears. "I - I know now that I won't see her for a long, long time. I mustn't want to. She has to live her life, and I want it to be long and happy. It's hard, so hard, but it would be selfish of me to want anything else. But I miss her, oh God, I miss her so much…" Desite herself, the tears were coursing down her face. He reached for a box of Kleenex on the coffee table and pushed a handful of them into her hand. She mopped her face gratefully, and looked up at him again. "You said that she'll be fine, but how can you know?"

"I don't," he admitted. "But she's your daughter, an' if she's anything like you, she'll be as strong as an armoured tank. She'll fight anything the world throws at 'er, just like you."

She shook her head. "I wasn't always like that. I was a mess when I was a teenager, consumed with rage over my parents' deaths. I went wild, smoked, drank, had madly unsuitable boyfriends, had all the teen angsts in spades. If it hadn't been for Evan, I'd have gone to the bad. He was so patient and kind through it all. Even he couldn't stop me marrying a louse."

"Anyone I can go an' stamp on?"

"Pete Drake. Son of Bryan and Marjorie Drake, who were robbed by Gaynor Mason alias George Staines."

"Bloody 'ell!"

"He's a cute teenager now, but he'll grow up to marry me and abandon Molly and me when she's six months old. He was in Canada with his second wife when I was shot. In time, he may be all Molly has to rely on. Evan's getting old. If Pete doesn't take care of her, who will? Bryan and Marjorie are both dead. And what if Layton goes after her?"

"Sorry, Bols. I'm not allowed to look into the future, any more than you can, now. Try asking Superman tomorrow. He might know 'ow she's doin'. He still remembers his own time, an' he knew you."

"Yes. Yes, I will."

"My turn again." He pouted. "_Collins_. How come you know 'im?"

She was able to smile. "Nothing for you to be jealous about. It's just as he said, a police conference in Bognor Regis, less than a year before I died."

"_Bugger_ Bognor."

"I couldn't agree more. I'd turned up expecting it to be a big opportunity to push the message of the importance of psychological profiling in the modern police force."

"And?"

She pulled a face. "The top brass were using it as an excuse for a holiday and piss-up at the taxpayers' expense. I was given the graveyard slot, just after lunch. Nearly everyone who bothered to turn up, fell asleep after the three-course meal and free booze ad lib. Only about a dozen people stayed awake to applaud at the end. Jason was one of them, and he was kind enough to approach me in the bar that evening and compliment me on my presentation."

Gene did not look convinced. "Depends what 'e wanted you to present."

She smiled again. "We chatted for half an hour, then he left to talk to someone else. That was all. Nothing for you to get jealous about." _I was half pissed by that time and would have been up for it if he'd wanted to come to my room that night, but thank God he was too innocent to work that out. No need for Gene to know. _"I didn't see him again until today."

"He can remember where 'e comes from, so 'e's another one in a coma. Bound to 'ave more issues than a Fleetway Annual."

"I'm going to visit Lisa tomorrow morning with the flowers and presents from the team. I'll get him to talk. He remembers me as someone from the future, so he might open up to me. I'll talk to Lisa, too, if she's well enough. We'll have to find out if she remembers anything from the real world. If she's dead or in a coma." It seemed utterly unreal for her to be discussing such things so dispassionately, but she knew that it was one more thing which she would have to get used to. She looked up at him. "Is that why you said that Lisa is _one of us_?"

"Yeah. As soon as I saw 'er, I knew. She's come to us to be sorted out, like Collins. Maybe she got shot tackling some armed bastard in the real world, an' that's why she went for Don. Like Shaz panicking over screwdrivers, an' Chris over whistles. I didn't used to recognise people who've been sent to me, I just saw Chris as a daft twonk or you as a fruitcake. But now I do. Must be because I remember everything now."

"So by forgetting, you'd lost some of your powers."

He shrugged and passed one hand across his eyes. "Must 'ave done, I suppose." He looked very serious. "You can tell 'em you come from the future too, if you think it'll get 'em to spill any beans. Then the three of you can be as mad as a bag of bees together. But you must never, _never_ tell them, or anyone else, what this world is. Understand? _Never._"

"I understand." She was very solemn. "You said in your office today that I have responsibilities here. This is one of them."

He nodded. "That's right. There's only the two of us who know. That makes us responsible for this world an' the souls in it. You may 'ave come back 'ere because you wanted your old job back, but you've landed yourself with something more. You're one of the protectors of this world now. Like me, an' like Nelson. It's gonna be tough, you know that, an' it won't end any time soon."

She smiled. "It was more than the job I wanted back. It was the DCI who comes with it. So long as you're here with me, that's all that can matter in this world."

His hands tightened around hers. "Thanks, Bols."

"You have to build a new team. That's what you're all about."

"Yep. We've got ourselves a DI an' a WPC today. It's a start, an' our new DS an' DC'll be along in their own time." She felt herself glowing inwardly over the _we_. "An' Collins was lookin' at Lisa like 'e was on a diet an' she was a piece of chocolate cake. With fudge icing. Soppy twonk."

"Really?" Alex was delighted.

"Yeah. Looks like it'll be Sam an' Annie all over again. Or Chris an' Shaz."

"Maybe that'll make it easier for him to accept this place."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't put 50p on it. Sam an' Annie took so long getting together, I though she'd be drawing 'er pension before 'e snogged 'er."

"Let's hope Jason's more forthcoming, then. And until the rest of the new team arrive, we can develop the officers we already have. Terry and Poirot both did well today."

"Yeah, they did. You're right, I'd been concentrating on Ray an' Chris an' Shaz, but the other boys in CID all need our 'elp to get 'em to the Railway Arms as well. Time to get started on 'em. I'll make 'em wish they 'adn't been reborn."

She grinned. "That's my Guv. This is what you need, isn't it? You're nothing without some deputies to bully and develop and protect."

"Yep. That's why I'm 'ere." He looked about him. "Come on. Still got a few more elephants to get rid of. Your go."

There was a fear in her eyes that he could not comprehend. "Gene, please tell me. When you sent me to the Railway Arms, was it because nobody who knows the truth about this world is allowed to stay here? Or did you send me away to punish me?"

He nearly exploded. "Are you jokin' me? I sent you to Heaven, an' you call it a _punishment_?"

Her eyes darkened. "To me, it was. I thought - I thought that you sent me away because I wasn't worthy to stay with you any longer. Because I'd suspected you of killing Sam."

"No, you daft tart. You'd done what you'd been sent to do in Purgatory. You'd helped me save three souls. You were the guardian angel who'd guided 'em to the gate of Heaven for me. It was your time to go to your reward."

"_Reward?_" Her voice was so high that it was nearly a scream. "A pub. A bloody _pub_. I don't even _like_ pubs. I'd just lost Molly, and you took it upon yourself to snatch everything else away from me that I cared about. You _rejected_ me. And all I got in exchange was - " She could not go on for a moment. "Why _did_ you send me there, Gene? Tell me."

"I told you, it's Heaven," he said impatiently. "It was the right place for you. I will go there one day, y'know. Just not yet. I wasn't goin' to forget you, any more than I forgot Sam. All I'd 'ave forgotten, was where you'd gone an' 'ow you left. I thought we'd both learn an' grow, an' be better for the experience when we met up in the pub at last."

"Grow?" She laughed, high and bitterly. "God help us. Do you know what it was like for me in there? Did you _care_?"

"Bols - "

"I went in through the door because you didn't give me any choice. You'd banished me, and I hadn't anywhere else to go. But I didn't go into the pub right away. It has an outer door and an inner door, with a space just big enough for a doormat between. I stopped there. I was terribly afraid that if I went in, I'd forget everything. The memories hurt me, knowing what I'd lost, but they are what make me who I am. So I decided to wait there until you arrived."

"Bloody stupid thing to do, wasting good drinkin' time," he muttered gruffly.

"I sat down on the mat, hugging my knees, and waited. After a bit Nelson came out, looking for me, and I told him that I wasn't coming in, and why. He tried to persuade me to come in, but I wouldn't listen. Eventually he went away and sent Shaz and Annie out. They both told me that you wouldn't want me to wait out there, and I decided that as they'd been in there and still remembered you, I would too, so I let them take me inside. Everyone was very nice and welcoming, and I told I could have all the drinks I asked for. But I was utterly alone. Annie has Sam, Shaz has Chris, Ray's off after more blondes than Harpo Marx. I was alone in the crowd. No work, nothing to do but sit there, surrounded by boozing, smoking coppers, remembering everything I'd lost, spending an empty eternity of waiting, having to hope that Molly won't come there for years, not even knowing if you'd ever walk through the door. I was so wretched that I'd have killed myself if I hadn't been dead already. The thought of being in that bloody place for ever was unendurable. It might be Heaven to some people, but it didn't have a single thing that I wanted. All I wanted was Molly and you."

"Sorry." He could not meet her eyes.

"Nelson thought it was strange that I should be so unhappy, because nobody's meant to be sad there. That was what made me hope, that maybe I shouldn't have been sent there yet. Shaz and Chris and Ray all tried to cheer me up, and they told me that they'd all seen the stars, just as I had, and that they'd each had a moment, in Luigi's, when they'd heard Nelson calling out to them. I hadn't had that. I told Nelson, and that was what convinced him to recommend to Authority, that I should be transferred back here.

"The only happy moment I knew in there, was when I was told that I could leave. I was sad at leaving the others, of course, but they all understood why I had to go. I told them I was sorry to leave them, and Ray said, "I told you long ago that being where the Guv is, is the right place to be." I don't know why, but I think he's the one who's going to miss me the most, except maybe for Shaz. Sam said to me, "I once left the world behind for the sake of the person I love, so I know why you must do the same." All Nelson said was, "Tell Mr Hunt his pint will be on the bar whenever he wants it." I was so happy, walking back to Fenchurch East, but I was so afraid, too. Afraid that you'd send me away."

"Well, I didn't, did I?"

"I thought you hated me for doubting you. That I was an inconvenience to you. That you shoved me into the pub so that you could go back to Fenchurch and start your new team. That you didn't want me any longer." She heard his sharp intake of breath, but she ploughed on. "That I meant nothing to you."

"Stop. Stop right there." His voice was harsh with pain. "How could you think that? You mean too bloody much. _That_ was why I 'ad to send you in there."

"Oh, because it's not allowed for you to _feel_ anything for anyone?" Her voice was laced with bitterness. "I was an embarrassment to you, because I'd made you go soft. You _wanted_ to forget me. You got rid of me so that you could go back to being the same coarse, swaggering, bullshitting bastard you'd been before I came. As though I'd never existed."

"NO!" The walls almost shook with the Lion's roar. "For God's sake! I did it because - " He was silent for a few moments as he struggled with his emotion. "Because I thought you didn't want me any longer."

It hit her rage in the solar plexus. She relaxed, and her face softened. "Oh, Gene, how could you think that?"

His face twisted with pain. "How _could_ you want me, now you knew what I really was? Christ, you'd dug me up! Your hands 'ad brushed the mud away… you'd _touched my shattered skull_… How could you look at me, even _think_ of me, with anything but disgust?"

"Oh, Gene, no, never, I could never think that - "

He went on punishing himself. "I thought all you'd ever see in me again was those rotting bones, knowing all I'd ever really been was a spotty eighteen-year-old in a uniform that didn't fit, with 'alf my face blown away!" He took a deep breath. "Had to send you away. Couldn't bear the thought of you coming back 'ere, feeling like that about me."

"Gene." She gripped his hand firmly, and reached up to caress his temple again. "You _were_ that poor, murdered boy, who became that corpse. Not any longer. The boy has become a man. The man I love and will always love."

"Bols - " The fire seemed to go out of him suddenly, and she saw his shoulders relax.

"I told you when I came back, earlier today, that that didn't matter. All that matters is that I love _you_ - the man you are. You and that boy are two separate people now, he in the past, you in the present. I saw him once, while you were sitting with me in Luigi's."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. When I first got into my office this morning, I saw - _him_ - reflected in my office door. Just for a moment, 'e disappeared when I looked round. But 'e wasn't wounded any longer. Whole. He looked at peace."

She continued to stroke his temple, feeling the strong pulse. "Gene, when I saw that vision of myself in hospital at 9.06, the television was on. There was a news report about the discovery of the body of a police officer. I saw the farmhouse and the weathervane."

He paled. "In 2008? I'll be found then?"

"Yes, my love, _he _has been found in the real world. The warrant card will have been there, and science has advanced so much by then, that they'll be able to confirm his identity from DNA tests and dental records. He'll be given a decent burial at last." Her voice dropped lower. "He _is_ at peace now. He was found at the moment I died. Something else that binds us together, tighter than either of us knew."

"2008." His mind was processing the information. "Another twenty-five years."

"I thought, I hoped, that because he'd been found in the real world, you'd be able to come with us to the Railway Arms at last. But you can't leave this place unguarded, can you?"

He shook his head. "No. I will be able to go there, someday, but I'll need a successor first. Someone I can 'and the job on to. Can't leave my post, not with Keats an' 'is little friends infesting the place like a Rentokil advert."

"I thought not. Every time someone else comes to you, the struggle for another human soul begins."

"That's about the size of it."

She sighed. "I'd hoped so much that you'd be able to destroy Keats. But you can't, can you?"

He shook his head. "Nope. He's part of the Balance, just like me. Got to have evil as well as good."

"And there I was, thinking that you were the good, the bad, _and_ the ugly."

He grinned. "I am. Keats isn't just bad. He's - well, 'e's Keats."

Her face fell. "I can't understand now, how easily I believed him. How I could let him trick me like that." She looked away. "That was why I thought you had to punish me. Because I'd trusted him and not you. Sam doubted you, and found that he shouldn't have done. I fell into exactly the same trap. You deserved better from both of us. I sat there in the Railway Arms, knowing that I'd thrown away the best and noblest man in all of the worlds, because I'd fallen for the Devil's lure. I helped him, and as a result he nearly destroyed you. That was my fault, and I had to be punished for it."

"Bols. _Bols_. Stop beatin' yourself up. I've already told you, I wasn't punishing you, an' I don't blame you for believing 'im. Keats has a lot more experience in this game than me. He's been getting people to believe 'im for a long, _long_ time. Why d'you think we all eat apples an' wear clothes?"

Alex gaped. "He's been around as long as that?"

"Oh, yes. I'm a Genie-come-lately compared to 'im. Gene Hunt, established 1953, versus James Keats, established at the dawn of time, first diploma, Garden of Eden, Mesopotamia. 'Course, 'e 'asn't always been known as Keats. He can come along in any shape or form 'e chooses. I've always got to be me. Dice aren't always loaded fairly in this game, Bolly, an' all we good guys can do is make the best of it. Or the least bad. All we can be sure of, is that sooner or later, either he or one of 'is pals'll be along to try an'get some more of the souls in our keeping." He bowed his head. "Viv. I lost Viv. I'll never forgive myself for that, never."

"I haven't been able to understand that," Alex said in a small voice. "Why him? Mac did things a thousand times worse than Viv, yet he died with you holding him and forgiving him. That was how he got to the Railway Arms, wasn't it? I saw him there. He nodded to me from across the bar. Why should that bastard be saved and not poor Viv?"

Gene sighed. "It was because I'd been weakened, Bolly. At the time Mac died, I was still strong enough to protect an' save even the ones who'd done wrong, like 'im."

"And Chris."

"Yeah. What I didn't know then was, that Mac was part of the process that was goin' to weaken my power. He'd been a corrupt Super in the real world, who shot 'imself when 'e was found out. It was all covered up, that's why nobody ever knew. He was sent 'ere to redeem 'imself, an' the stupid bastard made the same mistakes all over again. But 'e'd set up Operation Rose before 'e died, and that was what started sapping my power. All that mistrust an' suspicion everywhere. An' they got at one of my own. Chris. After I found 'im out, I didn't trust anyone, even you. I felt adrift. An' that was when Keats made 'is masterstroke. He sent one of 'is prettiest little devils to catch me out. An' I fell for it, hook, line an' bloody sinker."

"_Jenette?_ She's one of them?"

"Of Keats's lot. Yeah. An' she made just as much of a twat of me as Keats later did of you." His voice was a low snarl of self-loathing. "Made me trust a peroxided slapper instead of the best an' bravest woman I've ever known. The one I _should_ 'ave trusted, even when the rest of the world was goin' tits up." He bowed his head again. "When I think of what I said to you, the night before Operation Rose - I didn't know then that you came from the future, Bols, you've got to believe that I didn't know. Thought you were mad or worse. She'd poisoned me against you, just as Keats later poisoned you an' everyone else."

"It's all right," she said softly. "I was a fool to try to make you believe me. We were both adrift, both desperate. It was my fault too. Summers drove a wedge between us for his own purposes. But you forgave him too, and saved him from Keats. He's in the Railway Arms too."

"Summers? That poor plod who was found in the concrete?"

"No. The man you knew as Boris Johnson. His real name was Martin Summers. He stalked me for months before making himself known to me, while we were investigating the Gaynor Mason case. He was a former DI who was in a coma in 2008, in the hospital room next to mine. He'd come to this world and made his own life here. In 1982, he'd been PC Summers. Another young copper, ready to put the world to rights, spick and span and very proud, like you. Carnegie had paid him to look the other way. He saw his presence in this world as a chance to put things right. I saw him shoot PC Summers to stop him making the same mistake again. I couldn't understand then why he didn't die when he shot his younger self, but now I realise that it was because PC Summers was another construct. Summers tried to frame me. He was wearing gloves, and he pushed the gun into my hand so that it had my prints but not his. That was why I didn't dare tell you about the murder. I was too scared." Even now, she could not tell him that it was she who had hidden PC Summers's body in a concrete tomb. It was too similar to Gene's own tragic end in 1953.

"Bloody 'ell! So that's why you weren't surprised when Carnegie told us that the kid was dead."

"Yes. But that wasn't enough for Summers. He left you my tape to drive a wedge between us, because he wanted me to uncover Rose on my own. I did, and he made sure Carnegie and his men were caught, but he corrupted Chris and wrecked our relationship. He'd already tried to get me to work for him. He offered to get me back home if I helped him. But I refused."

"_Why?_" The blue eyes blazed into hers.

"Because I knew that if I had to destroy people I'd come to love, to get back home, then it wouldn't be worth it."

He relaxed. "You passed the test. Might 'ave been Summers offering it, but if you'd accepted, Keats would 'ave got you. Good girl."

She flicked him her sexiest glance. "No, a very bad girl, actually."

He grinned. "That's what I was 'oping, but not yet. More elephants to kick out first. That explains a lot, Bols. I didn't know about that Summers bloke, but now I realise, 'e was another who was meant to come to me. When 'e decided to operate on 'is own instead, it meant Keats could use 'im without 'im realising it. Means to an end. He died with me holding 'im, so I could get 'im into the Railway Arms. But when I shot you because of Summers an' Jenette, I 'ad to run for it. Gave Keats the chance to get 'is shiny polished boot in the door as a D an' C man. An' as soon as 'e'd got in, 'e could start drawing on my power."

"I noticed after I came back here after the coma, that this world seemed darker," Alex said thoughtfully. "Was that why?"

"Yeah. Prince of darkness. Even eating Fenchurch's bloody electricity bill. He was feeding off this world, Bols. It started thinning out in odd places. That's why you an' the others saw the stars every now an' then." He looked at her very intently. "Keats came because of you. Because you were going to help me. He was drawn to that. He wanted to stop it."

"Oh, great - so you're saying it's _my_ fault?"

Gene shook his head. "No, no. You made me better than I was. That's why you were sent 'ere. Just like Sam. Even guardians like me can go off course, Bols, an' I had, big time. I'd forgotten what I am by then, an' what my job's meant to be. I'd gone to the bad, taking backhanders, cosyin' up with crooks, convincing myself it was the best way to protect the public. Sam was sent to me to put me right. He made me a better copper." His grip on her hands tightened, and his eyes burned into hers. "You've made me a better man."

Alex could not remember being more deeply moved in that world. She knew what such an admission must have cost him. She was overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him, but she knew that if she did, nothing more would be said that night. She already felt exhausted but she knew that there were more questions that she still needed to ask. "So it was because Keats and the others had weakened your power that you couldn't save Viv?"

Gene nodded miserably. "Yes. Or that poor daft bint Louise. It became so bloody arbitrary. Each of you in turn 'ad to be put to the test. Shaz, Ray an' Chris passed, an' heard from Nelson. Might 'ave lost Chris when he beat Stafford up, but 'e stepped up to the mark when 'e saved that Tobias bloke. Louise an' Viv both failed. I found I couldn't save people I would 'ave been able to save, before. It became a race. Whoever reached 'em first, got them. I was so near to Viv, so near, and that _bastard_ got to 'im before I did." He looked away, and she saw tears glittering in his eyes. "Never forgive myself for that."

She stroked his hand. "So, now we have to be on the lookout for Keats to come back. Except that it might not be Keats."

"Oh, he'll come back some time. Almost the last thing 'e said to me was _We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when._ But it might not be soon."

"Because you're strong again?"

"Because, down there, success is rated in terms of the number of souls they bring back, an' on this mission 'e only managed two out of six. Not total failure, but not very good either, specially as 'e was so near to getting three more. His superiors'll want a few words with 'im. It could mean demotion. I reckon he'll be shovelling shit down there for some time to come."

Alex smiled faintly. "_The Screwtape Letters_."

"Eh?"

"A book by C. S. Lewis about a senior devil advising his nephew about the best ways to ensnare a human soul. The little devil fails, and the end of the book makes it clear he's in for a roasting."

Gene sniffed. "Barbecued Keats. I'll stick to the salad, thanks."

Alex smothered a grin. "So you think someone else from Hell might come instead?"

Gene shrugged. "Hard to tell. Might be 'im, might be someone else. I've tangled with 'is Super, Nick Callahan. Senior to Keats, but I'd rather fight 'im than Keats any day. More direct, less slippery. Not so used to working in the field. Or we might 'ave Morgan, the one who nearly got Sam."

Alex frowned. "But Frank Morgan was the surgeon who operated upon Sam in 2006. Sam said that he was the exact double of DCI Morgan. "

"Hm." Gene considered that for a moment. "Might mean Morgan got into the real world, just as I did when your parents died. Or else our Morgan was another little devil disguised as the real Doctor Morgan. Might 'ave been Keats with another face." Gene looked very hard at her. "You do realise that if you 'adn't come back, I wouldn't remember _any_ of this, by the time Keats or whoever it is comes along? With you 'ere, maybe I will. That's why Authority sent you back. You said today, two memories will be better than one."

"Remembering will be the hardest thing," she said softly. "The most painful, for both of us. But the most important, too."

He nodded, unable to speak.

She stroked his hand again. "What about Thordy? Is he one of Keats's people, too?"

Gene's face darkened and distorted until she almost recoiled from the ugliness she saw there. "No. Thordy's a blighted, misbegotten little piece of pig-shit who makes 'is way in the world conning people an' wrecking their lives."

"But surely he's no worse than any number of other criminals we pull in? What you did to him sickened and shocked me so much. I came close to hating you, because of him."

"Yeah, I - I 'eard you saying to yourself, that you didn't want to be 'ere any more." He looked ashamed.

"I wasn't talking to myself then. _He_ was there."

"Who?"

"The ghost. PC 6620."

"Oh."

"Don't duck the question. Why do you hate Thordy so much? Is it because you suspected him of cooking up the riot with Sacks?"

"Hah!" Gene was on the defensive again. "Only thing 'e could cook up is bacon an' beans with the Boy Scouts. _Keats_ was the one behind that riot, Bols."

"What?"

"Never got to telling you, with - with what 'appened later. Wish I had. Might 'ave dropped Keats's scales from your eyes. I checked the prison's visitor's log book. Keats 'ad chaired a number of meeting between prisoners' reps and the authorities. But negotiations broke down after a week."

Alex gasped. "So he had access to the jail, and to Sacks. They must have planned it between them. He knew Viv would take a gun in, and stopped him when he was trying to confess to you on the morning of the riot. He knew about the plan to get the hostages electrocuted, that was why he led the troops in when we were trying to stop them. Oh, God, if only I'd known."

"_And_ he got Thordy sprung to distract us," Gene added grimly.

"Yes. But in the end, we did owe a lot to Thordy. He warned us about what Viv had done, and he gave me the clue that enabled us to save Ray and Chris. Tell me, Gene. Did you try to kill him, when we found him in his cell with a bag over his head?"

"No. No, I didn't. Truth."

"It's all right," she whispered. "I believe you. Thank you."

"I looked in on 'im an' found 'im with the bag over 'is 'ead. I sounded the alarm."

"Keats again?"

"That was what I thought, but he'd been downstairs with us. Even he couldn't be in two places at once. But 'e might 'ave nipped upstairs earlier an' given Thordy the bag as a means of escape. The nutter's certifiable. Might 'ave thought a lungful of placcy would make 'im fly like a bird."

"You still haven't told me why you hate him. Is it because of Sam? Because he was Sam's last collar, and he claimed to _be _Sam? Because he desecrated your friend's memory?"

Gene sighed. "That's a part of it, Bols. There's one thing 'e did three years ago that still makes me want to rip out 'is kidneys an' make 'em into a pair of earrings for you."

"Three years? When Sam died? Left?"

"That's a part of it, Bols. Sam took a crack on the coconut chasing Thordy. Bastard 'ad left a plank where it would belt whoever followed 'im. Sam's got a hard head, an' it didn't knock 'im out, but 'e was woozy. Annie told 'im to go to hospital an' get it seen to, but 'e insisted on interviewing Thordy. I'd been out of the station when they brought Thordy in. I walked in on the interview an' found Sam spouting ten shades of crap about bein' mad, in a coma, or back in time. Now, the team an' I were used to Sam talking like that, but we did _not_ want a suspect seeing a police officer apparently 'aving a breakdown. I hauled Sam out of the interview room, got Annie to drive 'im to hospital, an' wiped the tape. Lucky the brief wasn't present. I interviewed Thordy later, with Ray. An' Thordy, of course, remembered every word 'e'd heard Sam say.

"Sam's little disappearing act went ahead on schedule the next week, an' Annie was shattered. I hated myself, watching 'er, knowing what I knew. Sam an' I 'ad talked about 'im taking 'er with 'im, but we knew that both of 'em vanishing at once would be too risky. I planned to send 'er on shortly afterwards, but in the meantime she was devastated. I looked in at their 'ouse every day, an' sat with 'er while she cried an' cried. It wasn't Annie, it was the shell of a woman that looked like 'er. She insisted that she wanted to come back to work the week after it happened. We all told 'er it was too soon, but she insisted that she 'ad to do something, or she'd go mad. In the end, I agreed, on condition that she stuck to desk work."

His voice dropped lower. "I'll never forget the day she came back. Pale as a ginger bird's arse, thin as a rake, eyes as empty as Chris's head, but brave, Bols, so brave. She got a standing ovation when she walked in, an' that cracked 'er up straight away, but then I gave 'er a load of paperwork an' yelled at 'er a bit to make 'er feel at 'ome, an' she quietened down an' got on. We all left 'er alone an' hoped she'd be okay.

"Sod's law, Thordy 'ad been brought back in for further questioning that morning, an' some daft twat of a plod took 'im through CID. Thordy knew Sam was "dead", of course." He waggled his fingers. "All Manchester knew about it. He came through CID, saw Annie, pushed 'is escort away, ran over to 'er, flung 'is cuffed arms around 'er, an' started yelling that 'e was Sam. All the crap he'd picked up at the interview. Ray an' I pulled 'im off, and Ray an' the plod hauled 'im out, yelling all the way that 'is name was Sam Tyler.

"Annie 'ad tried to fight 'im off, but there wasn't any strength left in 'er. She sank to 'er knees, screaming, an' every scream went right through my brain. I held 'er an' tried to comfort 'er, but she pushed me away, ran to the bogs, an' locked 'erself in. An' still the whole building could hear 'er screaming. I called Phyllis off the desk and got 'er to get Annie out of the bogs. I carried Annie out to my car, and Phyllis an' I took 'er 'ome. We called a doctor, who sedated 'er, an' we stayed with 'er all night. I was scared that if we left 'er an' she woke up, she'd try to top 'erself. She was a wreck. All that bravery, all that courage, an' Thordy had torn 'er to shreds. When I knelt on the grubby carpet in CID, holding 'er screaming in my arms, I swore to myself that if I got my 'ands on Thordy again, I'd make 'im pay for what he'd done to our Annie. And I did."

Alex's eyes shone with understanding. "Promise me one thing."

Gene looked wary. "What?"

"If we ever have to interview him again, let me have a swing at him, just once. For Annie."

"Bloody 'ell, never thought I'd catch you advocating violence, Bolly Knickers."

"When in Rome." She smiled wryly. "What happened to Annie then? Keats said that he could find no trace of her."

"After that day, I decided, sod the risk, I'd 'ave to get 'er to the Railway Arms as soon as I could. Didn't prove too difficult. She was signed off on compassionate leave, an' I talked 'er into transferring. She realised it would be too much for 'er to keep on working in the place where Sam 'ad worked. Bloody 'ell, it was too much for _me_. I fixed a transfer to Leeds for 'er, an' she only came back to CID for a small farewell do. The night before she was due to go to Leeds, I walked 'er to the Railway Arms an' told 'er to go in an' get a pint for me. She went through the door, an' I heard 'er calling Sam's name as it closed."

"They're happy together now," Alex said gently. "How did you explain why she never reached Leeds?"

"I rang 'em up an' told 'em that she'd changed 'er mind an' decided to resign from the Force. I'd already decided to come to London, an' I'd talked Ray an' Chris into coming with me. That night looking after Annie 'ad been the final straw for the Missus. Even when I told 'er it was a mission of mercy, an' Phyllis backed me up, she was convinced I'd been taking advantage of a grieving widow. I was past carin'. We split, an' I came south. Phyllis decided to take early retirement. Cheeky mare said she didn't want to 'ave to break in a new Guv. She sold 'er 'ouse in Manchester an' was goin' to buy a cottage in Scarborough. I walked 'er round to the Railway Arms for a goodbye drink, the night before I left for London."

"What have you told the team about Ray, Chris and Shaz disappearing? No more cars in the river, I hope."

"Christ, no. More trouble than it's worth. No, luckily we left the rest of CID on the perimeter at the aerodrome, so they couldn't see what was 'appening. I've told 'em that a couple of Hoorsten's heavies got away. They know who Shaz is, an' they're after 'er. She's been sent into witness protection - new ID an' strict orders not to contact anyone she knows. Chris insisted on going with 'er."

"A good way of covering your tracks," Alex said approvingly. "They'd have to come back if there was a trial, but there won't be one as we killed the whole gang. But nobody need ever know that. What about Ray?"

"Ray was killed in the final shootout. Private funeral in Manchester, family only."

"Sounds plausible. What about me?"

"We'd 'ad a row after the takedown. You'd transferred with immediate effect."

She smiled. "Good job you hadn't killed me off. We'd have had some explaining to do when I came back."

His eyes dropped to the ground. "Couldn't say that about you, Bols. Couldn't. Just couldn't."

She smiled, pressed his hand in understanding, and rose to her feet. Her legs felt stiff after sitting on the ground for so long. Swaying slightly, she walked over to the cabinet and rummaged in a drawer.

"What're you lookin' for, Bols?"

"These." She returned carrying an album and a couple of empty photo frames, and sat on the sofa beside him. "Let's see what we have here." She turned the pages. "Ah, yes. Luigi took this with Chris's camera, the night Chris and Shaz got engaged. Chris gave me a copy." She showed Gene a 10x8 print of the whole team, sitting at the long tables, with their glasses raised. Chris and Shaz were at the centre, with Gene and Alex to one side of them and Ray and Viv to the other. She removed it from the album. "Put it into this frame and keep it on your desk. And there's another - " She turned to another page and removed a second large photo of the five of them sitting, laughing, around the corner table. "Luigi took this at Christmas 1981. I'll frame it and keep it on my desk." She turned to another page, with a large photograph of the five of them leaning on the bonnet of the Quattro. "This one's good quality. I don't have the negative, but I'll get the man in the photo shop to enlarge it for me. We can put it on the wall above the trophy cabinet in CID."

"_Bols_." His face was full of pain. "Can't - we can't - I can't."

She put the album and frames on the coffee table, and turned to face him. "We have to," she said gently, laying her hand upon his arm. "For their sakes and ours. While we remember them, how they left us, and where they are, we'll remember Keats and will be able to guard against him and his like, and we'll know to send our charges on to the Railway Arms when their time comes. I know how hard you found it to talk about Sam and Annie. That was why you could forget, and why you had no defence against Keats when he claimed that you'd murdered Sam. For the sakes of Jason, Lisa, and all the others who'll come to us, we must always remember. Even though it hurts."

"Yeah," he said with an effort. "Yeah. Just so long as we don't 'ave a six-foot high photo of Keats in CID. Put me off my oxtail soup."

She smiled. "Perish the thought. I don't think we have any photos of him, anyway. He probably didn't want his image captured." She looked around her. "All elephants gone now?"

He followed suit. "Do you know, I do believe they have."

"Good." She rose. "Unfinished business time. Starting with a certain dance. And don't tell me that Gene Hunt does not dance. I know now that you can." She took his hand and helped him to his feet.

"Never said I couldn't," he said defensively. "Only that I don't. Okay, let's get the dancing out of the way. But if bloody Keats knocks at the door this time, he'll find 'is head so far up 'is fundament that 'e'll need a laxative before 'e finds 'is glasses again."

"Agreed." She walked over to the sound system and pressed the Play switch, and, as she had expected, a familiar song began. He hadn't changed the tape since that last, fateful night. He held out his arm to encircle her, drawing her close, taking her other hand as their feet and bodies began to move together in the rhythm of the music.

_Huh huh huh hu-uh huh_

_So true funny how it seems  
Always in time, but never in line for dreams_

_Head over heels when toe to toe  
This is the sound of my soul,_

_This is the sound_

She rested her head upon his shoulder, as she had before, confiding herself utterly to him.

_I bought a ticket to the world,  
But now I've come back again  
Why do I find it hard to write the next line  
Oh I want the truth to be said  
_

He bent his head and dropped a kiss upon her forehead, on the place where the bullet had struck. It felt like a blessing.

_Huh huh huh hu-uh huh  
I know this much is true_

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. Hers were huge and unfocussed with longing and unspoken fear. Both were tense as the song approached the moment when Keats had broken the spell.

_Huh huh huh hu-uh huh  
I know this much is true…_

The dreaded moment passed, and their lips met in a kiss that seemed to last for ever. The song continued unheeded as they stood in the near-darkness, so closely entwined that it was hard to know where one ended and the other began, their mouths caressing, exploring, drinking, claiming. At last their lips broke apart and he pulled her so close that she could scarcely breathe.

"Alex." His voice was husky with suppressed emotion. "You came back. _You came back_."

"Yes." She kissed him again, and then again. "I have to say this, here and now. I love you, Gene. You don't need to say anything, if you don't want to. But I had to say it."

"Yeah." He held her close, so that she could not see his face. "Oh, Alex. Thought I was going to face this on my own again. Always been alone. I'd thought that was the only way."

She smiled and kissed him again. "Oh, I can just imagine you, standing out there all alone, after you'd chivvied us all into the pub. Will Kane in _High Noon_ to the life. But even though it's your favourite film, there's one thing you've forgotten."

"Oh?"

"Amy got on the train to leave town, but she came back to her man_. _Like me."

"Yes." The word flowed from him in a deep sigh. "Like you."

"And when Will and Amy did leave town, they left together. Just as we will, some day, when our work is done and you've found someone else to whom you can hand your marshal's star. You'll never cast it into the dust, as Will Kane did. Until then, we're a team. Unbreakable."

He kissed her deeply. "Unbreakable, Bolly. Alex. Unbreakable."

The tape had ended. She had forgotten that "True" was the final song in the album. They stood together in the semi-darkness, kissing again and again. Suddenly the silence was broken by a plaintive tenor voice from the restaurant below, obviously on one of the opera tapes which Sandro had inherited from Luigi. Alex's eyes brightened as she recognised the song.

"Do you hear that, Gene? Listen!"

_"...e s'iddu muoru e vajo 'mparadisu_

_si nun ce truovo a ttia, mancu ce trasu."_

"Eh? What's it mean?"

"It's by Mascagni. It translates "And if I should die and go to Paradise, and did not find you there, I would not go in." She was close to tears. He kissed her again.

"Sounds like your song. That Masky bloke knows what 'e's on about."

She nodded, and he kissed her tears away. She gently freed herself from his embrace, took his hands, and drew him into the bedroom.

-oO0Oo-

She had not known what to expect. During her sojourn at the Railway Arms, she had tortured herself again and again, by wondering what their night together would have been like, if Keats had not driven them apart. She could acknowledge to herself now, that perhaps, if they had made love that night, the reality of lust and passion might have ruined the sweet, perfect, unfulfilled moments that they had shared before that fateful knock on the door. Maybe they would have parted the following morning in bitterness and disillusion, and found it impossible ever to come together again. All she knew now, was that it could not be the same as it would have been then. They had both changed so much, both weighed down with loss, grief and knowledge.

Yet in changing, they had grown closer together. They were still two people who loved one another, in this shadowy realm between death and Paradise. Keats had been unable to part them, and the last clouds of doubt and suspicion between them had been dispelled. Their love was a testament to survival. Both felt drained by the events of the day and what had gone before, but they could wait no longer for their consummation. They had both waited so long for this moment, had hoped for it, craved it, even dreamt of it.

They clung together like lost children, each knowing that they only had one another in that world. They made love with solemn tenderness, almost in silence, apart from the occasional murmured word, uttering soft cries as they reached their peak together. Lying in his arms afterwards, she had a sudden, vivid memory of how he had shared his strength with her as they awaited death together in the vault at Edgehampton. His lovemaking had been like that. It had not been the wild explosion of passion that they might have expected, but it was a deep, binding pledging of themselves to each other. She could not ask for more. They would have time now, to explore and deepen their relationship, day after day and night after night. Whatever they had not experienced tonight, would come later. They had time.

-oO0Oo-

"_Mum?"_

"_Molly?"_

"_Mum, why did you have to leave me? Why did you have to die?"_

"_Molly, I'm sorry…"_

"_I'm going to do this every night, Mum. I'm going to sit by my bed and talk to you. You always said that life was hard and that there was oblivion at the end of it. But you might be wrong. And if you are, maybe you can hear me…"_

"MOLLY!"

"Bols?"

Her eyes snapped open and she awakened to find Gene holding her tightly.

"Molly, Molly - oh, my little girl - she was there, Gene, I heard her, she was talking to me…" She broke down in an ocean of tears.

"Shh, shh. It was a dream, Bolly." He rocked her as she wept.

"I left her," Alex moaned. "She's all alone there, she needs me. How can I be happy, knowing that? Oh, Gene…"

"Shh…. Sorry, Bols, so sorry…" He held her until she was quiet. When she lay against him, feeling his bare chest wet with her tears, he spoke again. "She'll be fine, Alex. It'll be tough for 'er, just as it was for you, but she'll survive it an' live 'er life. Just as you did, an' as I 'ope my Mam did after I was shot. Dad an' my brother were dead, an' I was all she 'ad. Know it can't be perfect 'ere for you, without 'er, but I'll do my best for you. Hope you know that."

"Yes, oh, yes." She pressed closer to him. "Only stay with me. Please."

He pressed his lips to her soft hair. "Always, Bolly. Always."

They slept again, but not soon.

-oO0Oo-

_The door kicked open. The crack of a shotgun. Agonising, unbelievable pain in his right temple. Darkness, falling, endless falling…_

_His head bumping along the ground. His body rolling over and landing in a trench. Earth in his mouth, stifling him. Choking._

He woke up screaming.

"Gene?" Alex turned over and touched his shoulder. He rolled away from her, hunched into a tight ball. "Gene, what is it?"

"You get away from me!" he snarled. "Get away! YOU MADE ME REMEMBER!"

Alex flopped over onto her back. For a moment she was filled with such bitter rage that she could barely speak. Was it for this that she had come back to him? But almost at once, it was replaced by deep pity and love. She had always thought that she had a heavy burden to bear, but it was nothing compared to that of the tortured man lying at her side. She had begun to forget, but she had always known who and what she was, that this place was not the real world, and that her daughter awaited her in the land of the living. For Gene, who had forgotten so much more than she, the rediscovery of his past, and the truth about himself, would have been enough to drive him insane. Despite that, he had triumphed over it all, but the emotional scars would haunt him for a long time to come. She felt a pang of guilt as she realised how she must have added to his torment, by refusing to allow him to forget.

She longed to reach out and touch him, to comfort him as he had just comforted her, but she did not dare. If he knew that she was still there, he might send her away. She lay motionless beside the pain-racked man whom she loved so much, listening as his ragged breathing slowly calmed, waiting until she was needed.

A long time passed, and she thought that he must have fallen asleep, when she heard him call out hesitantly, "Bols?"

"I'm here, Gene." She risked reaching out to touch his shoulder. He started violently.

"Bloody 'ell! I thought you'd be on the sofa."

"No, Gene, I'm here."

He rolled over to face her, and in the dim light of dawn she could see the agony in his eyes. "_Why _are you 'ere? I told you to go."

"And since when did I obey orders, Guv?"

He grunted. "Thought you'd be 'alfway back to the pub, after what I said."

"You don't get rid of me that easily. I'm here. Where I'm needed."

"I'm shit at this, Bolly," he mumbled, looking away in shame.

"No, you're just new to this." Her voice was low, soothing, reassuring. "When I first came here, I had nightmares all the time. Hardly ever had a decent night's sleep. I learned to live with it. As you will. We'll be all right."

She could see his pain-racked eyes searching her face. "Will we, Bols?"

She held out her arms to him. "Come here." His eyes were full of longing, but he held back. "It's all right, Gene. I'm here for you, just as you are for me."

"Should be me lookin' after you," he mumbled, embarrassed and ashamed.

"So you do, and so you will. It cuts both ways, my love. We're a team. This is another reason why Authority let me come back to you. So that neither of us would be alone."

Still hesitant, he moved closer. She wound her arms about him and drew his head down to rest upon her breast, as though she were the mother who had lost him thirty years ago. He sighed, and she felt him relax against her as she stroked his shining hair. "Sleep now, my dear, dear love. I'm here. I'll always be here."

"Bolly..." He sighed out her nickname as he yielded to sleep at last. She stayed awake, watching the first feeble signs of dawn struggling between the slats of the window blind while her lover slept. It was the dawn of a new life for both of them. It was going to be hard, she knew, but then anything worthwhile could never be easy. And she knew that, together, they would succeed.

"Unbreakable, Gene. Unbreakable," she murmured as she fell asleep.

**TBC**


	5. Messages

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. I don't even own Jason Collins (aka the New Arrival), but I can claim responsibility for the way I'm developing his character.**

**Sorry for the delay since the last update. I've now finished not one but two music reviews, both are with my editor, and I can concentrate on fanfics again for a week or so. It's been ages since I've been able to read or review any fanfics, things keep getting pulled before I can read them, very distressing!**

**The next couple of chapters include a lot about Jason. That's necessary to set up the plot for the rest of the story. But Gene and Alex continue to play an important part, and there are mega doses of Galex to come in future chapters.**

**Once again, thanks are due to all the kind people who read, and especially those reviewed, Chapter 4. You deserve credit for your stamina in getting to the end of the chapter. This chapter's back to normal length! Please keep the feedback coming, all your reviews are appreciated so much.**

When Jason Collins had woken up on the morning of 21 May 2010, he had had no thought of spending that night twenty-seven years in the past, sitting at the bedside of a wounded colleague whom he barely knew. This was turning out to be a very long, complex, vivid, and for the most part surprisingly logical dream. So far it was turning out well, though. He had been a hero. That had felt good, although his sense of self-preservation told him that it would feel less good if his dream lasted long enough for him to cross paths with DCI Hunt again. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of that harsh, brutish man, whose Northern accent had reawakened memories which Jason had spent all his adult life trying to suppress. Brave, though, and genuinely concerned for his colleagues, in his rough way. Jason couldn't fault him there.

He shrugged the thought away. Probably he would wake up soon. He must have dreamt everything, including getting up in the morning, jogging to work, and being mugged and relieved of his iPhone. He hoped that before he woke up, he would have the chance to see Lisa Craven's violet eyes at least one more time.

He shifted uneasily in the hard armchair and glanced anxiously at her. The nurses had told him not to worry, it would still be some time before she woke up, but he could not help worrying anyway. She was so pale and still that she might have seemed dead had it not been for the infinitesimal rise and fall of her chest and the reassuring bleep of the heart monitor. They were caring for her well, though, there was no doubt about that. The hospital equipment might be outlandishly out of date in his eyes, but everything was spotlessly clean and there had been no delays in her treatment. The place seemed a lot less pressured than the frantically busy hospital environments of his own time. He wondered how his subconscious could have supplied so many authentic details of a 1980s hospital ward. He had only been five years old in late 1983, and he hadn't had to stay in hospital at any point during his childhood.

Suddenly the lights went out, starting with the bay in which he sat, then the next and the next, one after the other, leaving him in a corridor of darkness with brightness at the far end.

"Nurse! Nurse! What's wrong?" He was alone, and nobody seemed to hear his shouts. He glanced at Lisa. The light on her monitor was on, but it was not flashing, and he could not see her breathing.

"Oh, my God! _Nurse_!"

_"Oh, my God!"_ The woman's voice sounded in his head, but he could see no-one.

_"Did you see that?"_ The sound of running footsteps and another female voice. _"That bastard mugged him and then drove off in that car! The blue Renault. I took a photo on my mobile, and I've got the registration. Get an ambulance, and I'll call the police."_

A few seconds' desperate silence, punctuated only by the bleeping ofmobile phone keys.

_"Hello? Yes - yes - ambulance, please..."_

_"Police, please..."_

_"Hello? I'm in Sun Street, EC4. A man's been mugged. Hit over the back of the head. There's blood everywhere and he isn't moving... _

_"I've just witnessed a serious attack. Yes, in Sun Street. Poor bloke's unconscious..."_

_"I don't know anything about first aid, I'm scared to touch him..."_

_"Mugger hit him over the head from behind, got into a car, there was a driver waiting..." _

_"I think his skull might be fractured..."_

_"They drove off, but I've got the number plate..."_

_"Yes, yes, I am keeping calm, but hurry, please hurry, he could die, he might be dead already... No, I don't know him, I was walking to work and saw..."_

_"Blue Renault, NYO 318F. Yes, of course I'll wait with him, I'll give you a statement..."_

_"In his thirties, I should say - poor lad..."_

_"It's all right, I can feel his pulse, he's alive..."_

_"Oh, thank God, that must be the ambulance..." _

The blare of a siren and a screech of wheels grated through his head, and he jumped violently. All the lights came back on.

"NURSE!"

"What's up?" A nurse ran past him to check Lisa. He blinked. The heart monitor bleeped and flashed with the pulse of life.

"The lights went out just now." He knew that he sounded stupid. "She wasn't breathing."

"No, they didn't, I've been here all the time," the nurse retorted indignantly. "And she's fine. You should stop worrying."

"But I _saw_ - "

"Probably fell asleep for a moment." The nurse patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Not surprising, you've been here for hours. I'll get you a nice cup of tea."

She bustled off, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts. _Sun Street._ He had been jogging through there when he had felt that crushing blow to the head. Had the sounds he had just heard, come to him from the waking world where passers-by had witnessed the attack and summoned an ambulance? Were paramedics even now trying to resuscitate his unconscious body?

So, what was this place? Had his mind created an alternative world for himself while he was in a coma, using fragmentary memories of his childhood? Had he travelled back in time? Was he going mad? Or was he still dreaming the whole thing?

The nurse returned with a steaming cup of tea, which she pressed into his hand. "There you are, love, get that down you."

"Thank you very much." He sipped the scalding liquid. He could taste it and feel its heat. There was too much sugar. How could a dream give him that sort of detail? "You're very kind. Sorry about the disturbance."

"Never mind." She patted his shoulder again. "Just don't make a habit of it. She's lucky to have such a devoted boyfriend."

"But I'm not - " he began, but she had already gone.

He wrapped his hands around the cup, and settled back in his chair, slowly drinking the tea. If what those voices said was right, it sounded as though he was gravely injured. If he woke up now, he might not be able to bear the pain. He might even die. It would probably be better for him to stay here in this imaginary world, until his body had recovered sufficiently. This place wasn't too bad. At least, not most of it.

He looked at Lisa again. _Boyfriend._ He liked the sound of that. If only he could be.

-oO0Oo-

He managed to snatch a couple of hours' sleep during the night, and awakened around 6am. Shortly afterwards, his patience was rewarded at last by seeing her long eyelashes fluttering. He summoned the nurse and was unceremoniously shooed out of the way while the medical staff checked her over and shone lights into her eyes. His heart skipped a beat when the doctor took him aside.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No, no, she's doing very well. I understand you aren't related to her. Have you managed to contact any of her family?"

"No. We're colleagues, but I only met her yesterday, and I don't even know her station."

"Really! Well, in that case when she's feeling a little stronger, we'll have to ask her for some personal details. God willing, she won't need any further surgery, but if she does, we may need to ask her next of kin for consent. For now, she needs to rest and build her strength up. Don't be worried if she spends most of her time asleep for the next twenty-four hours, she needs that while she's getting rid of the effects of the anaesthetic."

"She's asleep already," the nurse added.

"Good. Don't disturb her. Looks as though you could do with a bit of shut-eye yourself."

He and the nurses left, and Jason resumed his seat beside Lisa. Her oxygen mask had been removed. Her face was even lovelier than he remembered. He fell asleep gazing at her.

He awakened a couple of hours later. She was still asleep, but after about half an hour a ray of early morning sunshine fell across her face and she opened her eyes. Once again, their beauty overwhelmed him.

"Hello," she said quietly. It was a shock to him to realise that he had not heard her voice before. It sounded just as he might have imagined, high and sweet.

"Er - hello. How do you feel now?"

"Muzzy. I was shot, wasn't I?"

"That's right, but the doctor says you're going to be fine, so long as you rest."

"I know I'm full of painkillers. I'm going to hurt like hell soon. Do I know you?" She still sounded drowsy.

"We met briefly yesterday, but you won't remember it. I was one of the two police officers who caught the bastard who shot you, and I gave you CPR until the ambulance arrived."

"Thank you. You saved my life."

He felt very shy. "It was the paramedics and the doctors who did that. All I did was to keep you ticking over."

"Thanks anyway. But have you been here all this time? And you don't even know me?" The violet eyes opened wide in surprise, and he was lost.

"Well - yes," he faltered. "I thought someone should be with you, and we didn't know whom to contact. All you had on you was your warrant card."

"That's kind. Thank you." She seemed to fall asleep for a moment, then refocused her attention on him. "What's your name?"

"Jason. Jason Collins."

"Hello, Jason. I'm Lisa."

"I know. It's the only thing I know about you - from your warrant card. Listen, do you have any next of kin we should contact, to let them know you're here?"

"No, I've no family here in London. Not even a boyfriend."

His spirits soared. "What about your station, can I contact anyone there?"

She yawned. "You could try, but I haven't reported there yet. I was due to start at Fenchurch East yesterday morning. I was walking there when I asked to help with the road block."

"Good God! That's my station!"

"You too? How long have you been there?"

"Three years - that is - no, I started there only yesterday."

She frowned sleepily. "Well, make up your mind."

"I was there before. Another time. I started again yesterday."

"Detective?"

He nodded. "DI."

She looked impressed. "I'll be making your tea, then. I've been assigned to CID. Clerk and typist."

The nurse bustled over to them. "Now, now, you can chat each other up later. You're disturbing the other patients, and you're meant to be letting this young lady rest."

"Sorry," they said together, caught each other's eyes, and both giggled.

"She's right, though," Jason said softly, after the nurse had gone. "Go back to sleep. I'll be here." He saw that she was already asleep, and settled back in his chair, trying to control his elation. He wanted to jump up, shout, wave his arms, turn cartwheels. They were going to work together. They would see each other every day. And she didn't have a boyfriend. He knew she was going to be his girl. Even before they'd spoken, he'd just known it. Suddenly the prospect of life in the 1980s was even more appealing.

Good Lord, what was he thinking of? This wasn't real. He had no idea how long it would last, or if anything would work out the way he wanted. Dreams were like that.

But a part of him knew that this was more real to him, than reality would ever be.

-oO0Oo-

He remained in devoted attendance throughout the morning while Lisa dozed, woke, and slept again. Recognising that she was still drowsy from the anaesthetic and increasingly in pain from her wound, he did not try to engage her in conversation again, but hoped that his presence would be of some help to her. At the back of his mind, he knew that he was using his attendance at her bedside as a means of delaying his return to Fenchurch East and the complications of this new world.

"How is she?"

The woman's voice, almost directly above him, made him start. He looked up and saw Alex Drake, holding a large bunch of flowers, a vase, and a carrier bag. She looked deeply concerned, but could not repress her air of radiant happiness. Remembering how he had first seen her the previous day, sitting on their superior officer's lap and kissing the life out of him, Jason suspected that he would not have to look far to find the cause. There was a story here, and it would behove him to find out what it was.

"Resting, just now. She woke up around half six this morning," he said softly. "The doctor says she's doing well."

Alex sighed with relief. "Thank God. I won't disturb her." She put the vase down on Lisa's bedside cabinet and arranged the flowers in it.

"Hello?" Lisa had awakened, and looked very surprised to see Jason talking to a strikingly beautiful woman. He wondered how he was going to get out of this.

"Hello," Alex said warmly, holding out her hand. "I'm DI Alex Drake from Fenchurch East. Jason's colleague. You'll be working with both of us when you get out of here."

Lisa raised her delicate eyebrows. "Wow, a _woman_ detective? I didn't know the Met had any."

Alex smiled. "I'm the only one in my Division. Maybe you'll be the second some day. Listen, I don't want to do anything to tire you. I was shot in the stomach a year ago, and I know what it's like. I only came to bring you some flowers and presents from your new colleagues." She reached into the bag and produced a bag of fruit, a box of chocolates, and a card.

"But you don't even know me yet." Lisa looked drowsily puzzled.

"You're one of us," Alex said gently. "You did something very brave yesterday, and you could have been killed for it. Just like Shaz."

"Who?"

"Your predecessor. She was promoted to DC. Fenchurch East may be full of sexist bastards, but we all admire courage. Well done."

"Thank you," Lisa said shyly.

Alex looked at Jason. "I do have one other commission. The Guv asked me to find out how Lisa is, and to find out when you'll be back on duty." She did not add that Gene's words that morning had been "when he's going to get off his fat arse and get back 'ere to catch some scum."

"Oh. Er - "

"Jason." Lisa spoke up. "It's so sweet of you to have stayed with me for so long, but I know I'm not very good company at the moment. Why don't you go home, get changed and cleaned up, and have a rest? All the new shift here must think you're waiting for treatment."

Jason looked down at his bloodstained clothes. "Yes. But I don't have anything else to wear. I don't even have anywhere to live."

"We'll find you some clothes from Lost and Found until you can buy some more," Alex said helpfully. "And your new flat is all ready for you."

"Is it?" He looked up, surprised. "I remember now, you said yesterday that someone was going to show me to my flat."

"It's above Alexander's, the restaurant opposite the station. Very handy for work. The Guv and I have the flat below."

"Oh." Jason felt embarrassed at being the recipient of such a public declaration of the nature of Alex's relationship with their superior officer, and a sidelong glance at Lisa showed her eyebrows raised so high that they nearly disappeared into her hair. But he also saw her understanding, and possibly even relief, that his own relationship with his fellow DI was purely professional. Alex Drake, he realised, was one perceptive lady.

"Don't worry," Lisa said gently. "I know you'll come back later." She was fighting not to fall asleep as she said the words, and he realised that his presence was placing demands upon her, which she could well do without. The kindest thing he could do, was to leave her to rest.

"OK," he conceded. "Take care of yourself. I'll be back this evening." Lisa held out her hand, and he squeezed it encouragingly. He longed to pluck up the courage to kiss her cheek, but decided not to risk it. She had already fallen asleep. He tucked her hand beneath the bedclothes, and turned around to see Alex waiting for him.

"Don't worry if you can't come back until after visiting hours are over," she said encouragingly. "I find that a warrant card opens a lot of doors. Come on, I've nicked a pool car to take us back. I thought you shouldn't walk through the streets looking like that."

He nodded dazedly. "Visiting hours?" Accustomed in his own time to being able to make hospital visits whenever he chose, he was confused by the notion of limited visiting times. One more thing which he would have to get used to in this world. She swept him out of the hospital and into a Vauhxall Cavalier. Until now, adrenaline and anxiety had kept him going, but suddenly he was beginning to realise how very tired he was. He looked out of the window as Alex drove through the streets. They looked familiar, yet not the same. The cars, the clothes worn by passers-by, the televisons and appliances in the shops they passed, were all undeniably retro. Yet again, he wondered how he could have imagined so much detail by himself. Perhaps he really had travelled back in time. But if he had, why had he heard those voices?

He was still puzzling over it when the car pulled up outside the restaurant. Alex got out and opened the passenger door. "We're home. I'll introduce you to your new landlord."

She led him down the stairs into the restaurant. It was not yet open, and Sandro, wearing a grey jacket with the proportions of a mailbag, in which he nonetheless looked totally edible, was singing cheerfully to himself as he polished the tables.

"_Buon Giorno!_" He slung his polishing cloth over his shoulder and advanced to meet them, holding out his hand.

"Good morning to you too, Sandro." Alex took his hand. "This is DI Jason Collins, your new top floor tenant. Jason, this is Sandro, your new landlord and proprietor of this restaurant. You'll get to know him and his menu very well. CID eat and drink the night away here, nearly every night."

"Good to meet you, Signor Collins!" Sandro shook his hand enthusiastically. "It's a pleasure to meet my new tenant. Your flat's all ready for you."

"But... but I don't have any money to pay you."

Sandro grinned. "No problem. I charge in arrears. You won't owe me anything until your pay day. I know where you work, and I can trust a copper not to cheat me."

_That's what you think_. Alex sadly remembered Mac.

"Er, thank you, you're very kind." Jason felt overwhelmed by Sandro's effusiveness.

"If you'll let us have the key, Sandro, I'll show Jason up to the flat," Alex put in. "I know how busy you must be, just before opening up for the day."

"Thanks, Signora Drake." He reached under the bar counter and produced the key. "I've put a few things in the larder for you, bread, milk, and so on. I know you won't have had any time for food shopping. Signor Hunt told me that you were on a mission of mercy last night. I hope the young lady is better?"

"She's improving, thank you."

"Good, good. Here's the key. Your meal here tonight will be on the house. And if you find any problems with the flat, let me know at once. I want my tenants to be happy."

"Thank you."

Alex took the key. "This way, Jason. See you later, Sandro."

She led him up the stairs, pointing out her own flat as they passed it and taking him to the one above it. She unlocked the door, and they went inside. Jason looked about him. Not having been occupied for some time, it looked a little bleak, but she turned the lights on, put the kettle on, and showed him around.

"The layout's just the same as mine," she explained. "Kitchen here, bathroom here, and this is the bedroom. The boilers can be a bit temperamental, I'm afraid." She looked at him with a practised eye. "You haven't had any breakfast, have you?"

"Can't remember when I last ate, actually," he lied. _Breakfast on 21 May 2010. God knows how long ago in this world._ "But how did you know that?"

"I'm a mother. You can't fool me. Let's see what Sandro's left you." She went into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. "I like his idea of "a few things"." She waggled her fingers. "There's enough here to keep you going for days. You must be shattered after sitting with Lisa all night. Sit there, and I'll do the honours. Cornflakes or porridge?"

"Cornflakes, please."

She passed him a bowl, a box of cereal and a bottle of milk. "There you go. Bacon and eggs?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He started on the cornflakes while she set to work. He had not realised that he was so hungry. As soon as he had finished, she placed a huge plateful of bacon and eggs in front of him.

"Thank you very much," he said gratefully. "This is so kind of you."

"Not at all." Alex flashed a beautiful smile. "We're colleagues, and you've just spent a night watching at a wounded colleague's bedside. We're a close-knit team at Fenchurch East. Try not to worry about Lisa," she added gently. "She needs to rest. I should know, I was shot in the stomach a year ago, and I was in a coma for three months. Accident on duty."

Jason frowned. "Accident?"

"I got in the Guv's way when he fired at a bimbo who was holding me at gunpoint. Old history. Look, if you'll excuse me while you're eating, I'll go across to the station and get you some clothes from Lost and Found. Will you let me keep the key?" He nodded, his mouth full. "Thanks. Back in a minute."

She whirled out, leaving him to ponder, while he ate, on the strange nature of this place in which he had found himself. A place in which a colleague openly enjoyed a passionate relationship with a senior officer who had accidentally shot and gravely wounded her. And that colleague was the exact double of a woman he had met three years ago in his own world, and who had been shot dead on duty two years ago. How did this hang together? If this was a dream, why had his subconscious included a memory of someone he had known so long ago, and so briefly? Why had it chosen _her_?

-oO0Oo-

Alex strode briskly into the station and stopped at the desk. "Key to Lost and Found, please, Paul. Good Heavens, what's the matter?"

Paul looked utterly miserable, and was looking anxiously around him as though expecting something to appear at any moment. "Oh, Ma'am, it's Tiger." He spoke in a cautious whisper. "He's gone missing."

"What's Tiger?" Alex thought that she knew, but one of her first principles of interrogation was to make the interviewee admit as much as possible.

"Our kitten, Ma'am."

_Got it in one._ "Not the kitten Terry brought back after the Archer Lane job yesterday"?

"Yes, Ma'am. He was asleep in his basket in my office, but he must have wandered off when my back was turned, and I don't know where he's gone. He could be anywhere."

Alex assumed her sternest expression. "Does Terry know about this, or it is just you?"

"Er - "

"So he does."

"Don't blame him, Ma'am, it's not his fault. He couldn't bear to abandon Tiger where he found him, poor little thing, so I said I'd look after him here until we could find him a good home. Find Tiger a good home, that is. Not Terry. Ma'am."

"You do realise that you've both disobeyed a direct order from the Guv?" Alex was at her most magisterial.

"The Guv gave the order to Terry, Ma'am, not to me. And I thought, if Tiger was found here, I could say it was all my fault. Because it would be worse for Terry because he's a DC and he's been here a long time, but I'm uniform and I've only just transferred here. Ma'am."

Alex continued to give him her most penetrating stare for just long enough to make him wilt. "Then you'd better go and look for him, hadn't you? _After_ you've given me the key to Lost and Found."

His face lit up. "Then - then you won't tell the Guv?"

She gave him a considering glance. "I see no reason for that, do you? None of us want roasted kitten and barbecued Skip on the canteen menu. I shouldn't worry too much," she added. "Tiger's probably found his way to the typing pool and the secretaries are making a fuss of him. Or else he's in the canteen, being fed by the kitchen staff."

He sighed with relief. "Thank you, Ma'am!" He located the key, pressed it into her hand, and vanished down the corridor at top speed. Shaking her head, Alex headed for Lost and Found.

Emerging about ten minutes later with a carrier bag full of clothing which she judged to be about Jason's size, she encountered Gene coming along the corridor.

"Ah, Drake. Come back to 'elp us nail a few criminals, then?"

"Not just yet, Guv," she admitted. "I've taken Jason to his flat, and I've been raiding Lost and Found for some replacement clothes for him."

"Eh?" Gene bristled jealously.

"You know that everything he has is covered in blood. He can hardly come into CID looking like that. He must have had enough funny looks at the hospital."

"Watching 'im while 'e changes is _out. _Looking at 'im in 'is undercrackers is _out_."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Give me some credit, Guv. I'll leave the flat before he tries them on. He's having breakfast at the moment."

"_Breakfast?_ This is no time for food! The lawless legions of London are swarming all over Fenchurch, an' he's _eating_?"

"Have a heart, even if it's some toerag's that you ate earlier. He was awake all night sitting with Lisa."

Gene softened. "How is she?"

"Woozy, but improving. The doctor says she's doing well." She lowered her voice. "I get the impression that Jason wants to talk. Give me some time for that. It could be important."

Gene nodded. "Take Mr Male Model 1983 'is new collection, then. But if your silver-tongued eloquence doesn't get 'im to tip up pronto, shift your denim-clad arse back 'ere. Don't appreciate operating without any of my DIs."

"Roger that, Guv. I'll get Jason over here too, as soon as I can. He knows he's due a bollocking for yesterday."

"Save us, the man's a prophet!"

"See you soon, Guv." She pressed his hand and vanished down the corridor. Gene stood for a moment, watching her go. Then he turned and marched back into CID. His eagle eye noticed that something was not right. Paul was moving from desk to desk, looking on, around and under each in turn, and trying desperately to look nonchalant while he did so.

"Something up, Skip?"

Paul coloured. "Err, nothing to worry about, Sir. DI Drake asked for a file, and I'm not sure where it is."

Gene fixed him with a cold, penetrating gaze. "She 'asn't been at work today. When did she ask you for it?"

"Um, yesterday, Sir."

"_Which file?_"

"Er, Don Kempster, Sir. Previous offences."

"I see." Gene gave him his best _I know you're lying_ glare, all too well known to the criminal population of London. Paul shrank, but did not break. "An' 'ave you any idea why she'd be wasting 'er valuable time with 'is previous offences when 'is charge sheet from yesterday'll see 'im doing the Jailhouse Rock till 2015?"

"No, sir."

"I'll ask Drake. She'll be in soon." He did not miss the flash of consternation flitting across Paul's face. "Well you'd better bugger off an' look for it, 'adn't you?"

"Er, yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Turning away to head for his office, out of the corner of his eye he caught a desperate glance passing between Paul and Terry. He stopped and looked back, but they both instantly looked unconcerned. He flung the door of his office open, stepped inside, and stopped dead at the sight that met his eyes.

His desk looked as though a hurricane had struck it. The telephone was off its hook, myriads of papers and files lay churned up in wildest confusion, the desk lamp lay on its side on the floor, and tangled up in its lead was a small, familiar tabby kitten, lying on its back and gleefully waving its four little white paws in the air.

Gene took two steps, stooped, picked up the tiny malefactor in both hands, and glared at it. The door was still open, and somewhere outside he heard a strangled yelp of horror. He guessed, correctly, that it came from Paul.

"Sir, please, don't, don't hurt him…"

The kitten gazed up at Gene with melting innocence. Blue eyes met deeper blue as Lion and Tiger silently stared each other down. CID held its collective breath.

Perhaps Gene recognised in those eyes, something of another cheeky, blue-eyed youngster, who long ago had been thrown onto his own resources at far too young an age. Suddenly he became acutely aware of how easily his strong hands could squeeze the life out of the tiny body he held.

"Skip. Terry." He did not take his eyes from the kitten's as he spoke.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Guv?"

"I'm assuming that you two both know about this fiend in feline form who's trashed my office?"

Paul bravely stepped forward. "It's my fault, Sir. Please don't blame Terry. He brought Tiger in yesterday, but - "

"_TIGER?_"

"That's his name, Sir. It's my fault, I said I'd look after him until I could find him a home. I've been keeping him in my office. He got out when I wasn't looking. Please don't hurt him, Sir."

Gene marched purposefully out of his office, still holding Tiger in both hands, and dumped his small charge in Paul's shaking arms. "Get it out of my sight. Youngest juvenile delinquent I've ever arrested. Give it a tin of salmon an' a saucer of milk. If it 'adn't been 'ungry, it wouldn't 'ave wandered off. TERRY!"

"Yes, Guv?" Terry stolidly awaited his doom.

"You an' Skip, put my office back together an' sort out _all_ the files an' paperwork before you leave tonight. I'll tell Sandro not to feed you until the job's done. An' as we 'aven't got a WPC for a week or three, you're our tea boy until she arrives. Jump to it. I'll 'ave milk, five sugars an' Garibaldis. Chop, chop."

"Yes, Guv." Terry scuttled into Gene's office.

"SKIP!"

Paul, who had reached the door with Tiger in his arms, froze. "Yes, Sir?"

Gene's face softened. "Only room for one big cat in CID."

"Yes, Sir."

"Find it a good 'ome. But if you make a present of it to DI Drake, I'll 'ang you upside down in the cells an' let Collins use you as a target for 'is firearms training. Bugger off."

"Yes, Sir." Paul fled, and Terry emerged from Gene's office with his mug and armloads of papers which he dumped onto Chris's empty desk for sorting. Gene watched him for a moment before disappearing into his office. CID heaved a collective sigh of relief and got back to work. For the moment, life was back to normal.

**TBC**

**A/N Gene's confrontation with Tiger was inspired by an illustration by alicia_mb. Check out her wonderful LOM and A2A fanart on LiveJournal! The kitten picture is under her entry for 18 May 2010.**


	6. Jason's Story

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes, but if I win Euro Millions next Friday I may try to buy it from Matt & Ash…**

**Another longish instalment now, as this is the other chapter (after Chapter 4) which sets up the plot lines for the rest of the story. Sorry, the next chapter is a fortnight off as I'll be abroad for some of the time and need to get my laptop repaired while I'm away.**

**Once again, thank you to everyone who is still reading, writing, faveing, alerting and (especially) reviewing this story. It is all so very much appreciated. Please keep that lovely feedback coming in! I promise to reply to all reviews, either before I go or after I get back. **

**As the Guv says, it's all about timing: I erroneously dated "The Return" as taking place in 1984. Rachel Miller's calendar shows that the showdown at London East Aerodrome takes place on 27 November 1983. "The Return" and the first few chapters of this story therefore take place in late November/early December 1983. That's about to become important.**

His breakfast finished, Jason sank onto the comfortable if slightly shabby sofa, nursing a mug of tea. He sat staring, unseeing, at the large cathode ray tube TV in front of him. It had a Betamax video machine beneath it. _Betamax? Good Lord, how long is it since I saw one of those? _The sound of the key in the lock aroused him from his reverie.

"I hope I haven't been too long." Alex breezed into the room and dumped a carrier bag full of clothing on the sofa beside him. "I've had to guess your size. Take what you need and give the rest back to Paul, our Skip. This should keep you going until you can get to a clothes shop."

"Thanks very much." Jason peered into the bag. "This looks great."

"No problem. Is there anything else you need?"

Jason made a decision. "Do you have to go back straight away?"

"Not necessarily. Why?"

"Could I talk to you for a few minutes?"

"Of course." She pulled up a chair and sat down. "What is it?"

"DI Drake - "

"Alex, please."

"Alex. Are you a psychologist?"

"Yes, I am."

"It figures. Just like the other Alex Drake." He faced her. "What would you say if I were to tell you that this world doesn't exist?"

She managed to look surprised. "Good heavens! I'd probably say that I'd write a book about you. But why on earth would you say a thing like that?"

"Because it's true," he said earnestly.

"But what makes you think so?"

He looked away. "You'll think I'm mad."

"No, tell me."

"I - I come from the future," he said wretchedly. "Yesterday morning I was in my own time."

"What's that?"

"It was the twenty-first of May, 2010. I was jogging to my station, Fenchurch East. In Sun Street, someone hit me from behind and knocked me down. I sat up and found that the street looked different. Everywhere looked different. I'd been wearing a tracksuit, and now I was wearing these clothes. My iPhone had vanished. All I had in my pocket was my warrant card, and it said that I'm a DI. DI! I've been a DCI for the past three years. I thought someone must be playing an elaborate practical joke on me. I walked into the station, and that's all different too. The place was full of strangers. My office has gone. All the computers have gone. And when I asked where my office was and what the hell was going on, DCI Hunt pinned me to the wall and told me it's 1983."

"But it _is_ 1983," Alex said gently.

"I thought I must be dreaming," Jason went on distractedly. "Or else that I'd gone mad. But last night, while I was sitting with Lisa, all the lights went out and I heard voices. Passers-by who'd seen me being mugged and summoned an ambulance. They said I was unconscious and gravely wounded."

"But you look all right to me." Alex hated sounding so unsympathetic. She understood too well, what Jason was going through. But she knew that to tell him the truth about this world would be calamitous.

"That's just it!" Jason said triumphantly. "In 2010, I've been badly injured. I'm in a coma. I might die if I come round. But while I'm in the coma, I'm dreaming about this imaginary world, and it'll be safer for me to stay here until I'm well enough to wake up."

"That's - really very clever," Alex said cautiously.

"I just don't know why I'm dreaming about being twenty-seven years in the past, or why you're here in my dream."

"Why are you surprised about me being here?" Alex tried to look suitably astonished.

"I told you yesterday, I met a DI Alex Drake at a conference in 2007. She was a psychologist too. We had a drink together and we talked for some minutes, but that was all. I can hardly call it a major influence on my life. I never met her again, and she was murdered the following year."

"Poor lady!"

"Yes, it was a frightful case. She was kidnapped and shot by a gunman with whom she'd been negotiating."

"Good heavens." Alex didn't need to pretend to look appalled. "Did they get the man who did it?"

"Oh, yes, only a few days later. There was a massive manhunt. He was caught hiding out in a disused farmhouse in Lancashire. Farringfield Green, it was called."

"My God!"

"You've heard of it?" Jason said, surprised.

"Er, yes, we, ah, had a case there not long ago. All the roads seem to end there," she added, more to herself than to Jason. "So, the gunman's in jail?"

"Oh, yes. Thirty year stretch."

"Thank God." She sighed with relief. "Did - " She could hardly bring herself to ask the question. "Did this other Alex Drake leave any children?"

"Yes, there was a daughter. I remember because the Met set up a charitable foundation in her mother's memory, with the idea that it'll fund her education, and when she's grown up, it'll benefit other orphaned children of police officers. I sent in a contribution."

"That was good of you," Alex said gratefully. "Thank you."

"Well, I thought it was the least I can do, seeing that I'd met her," he muttered, embarrassed.

"So, this poor child - she's an orphan now?"

"No, because I remember that I received a letter signed by her father, thanking me for my donation."

Alex did not know whether to be glad or sorry. If Pete faced up to his responsibilities at last, it could make an incalculable difference to Molly's future. But if he didn't, and he got his grubby little paws on the money, Molly was unlikely to see much of it. Still, Evan would be there for her, and should be able to put a stop to any of Pete's sharp practices. _I'll just have to hope for the best._ Reluctantly, she decided that she would have to change the subject. Jason was already looking at her in some surprise, and she realised that her searching questions about her apparent namesake must seem odd.

"But doesn't this world feel real to you? Didn't you feel the wind in your face when you were outdoors? Didn't you taste the food you've just eaten? Don't you feel that sofa you're sitting on?"

"Yes to all of those, and I could smell Harry Kempster's foul breath when he was holding me hostage." Jason grinned wryly. "But I tell you, I come from 2010. This must be a dream, yet it's so real and so logical. Unless I really have travelled back in time while I'm in a coma. I'm sorry, you must think I'm mad."

"Not at all." Alex hoped that she sounded reassuring. "I once corresponded with a colleague who'd been in a prolonged deep coma during which he'd experienced a full sensory hallucination. When he awakened, he experienced a profound sense of dislocation because the place that he went to in his subconscious had felt completely real."

"Maybe that's it, then." Jason did not sound very reassured. "This is some sort of dream or hallucination while I'm in a coma, and I'll wake up when I'm well enough." He suddenly looked horrified. "You won't tell anyone else about this? I don't want everyone here to think I'm a basket case."

She smiled. "Of course not. I respect confidentiality, whether it's from a patient or a colleague."

He looked relieved. "Thank you."

Alex decided to try another tack. "But if you're in a coma, surely you'll have family and friends around your bed. They'll talk to you, and you'll hear them. That will help you to wake up. They'll all be encouraging you to fight."

"I doubt it," he said ruefully. "My parents are both dead, and I have no other family that I know of. I have a few friends, but none of them are close enough to spend days talking to a vegetable in a hospital bed. And I broke up with my last girlfriend six months ago. My colleagues may drop by, but that's about all. God, I do sound a failure, don't I?"

"Being a copper is a life as well as a job," Alex said very seriously. "I've been working in this team for over three years, but I've made few friends outside the team. That's the way it goes. Fenchurch East is my family."

"I've been in London for fifteen years, and apart from being successful at my job I've got bugger all to show for it," Jason said violently. "I've been alone all my life, ever since - Good God!"

"What's the matter?" Alex tried not to sound too eager.

"1983." He was looking at the floor, talking to himself, not to her. "I've come back to late 1983. That's just before - Maybe that's why I'm here. I may be able to stop it happening."

"What's wrong, Jason?"

He looked up at her, his face full of purpose. "1984 was the year in my childhood when everything went wrong. Maybe I can stop it. Change my future. Stop myself becoming the bitter, lonely bastard I've become."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Alex prayed that he did. "I don't want to pry, but - "

He considered for a moment. "Yes. Yes, please. Now I've said as much as this, I think I have to, to explain what I've said just now, and to try to excuse my behaviour to DCI Hunt when I first arrived yesterday. I realise that I must have created a very bad impression with him, and if I'm going to be here any length of time I'll have to try to correct that."

"You disobeyed his orders." She allowed herself to sound severe. "He wants your kidneys with sausages and baked beans on the side."

"I know I'm due a ticking-off. But - well, there's something else too."

Her mental antennae quivered. "Oh?"

"Yes, I know that I reacted badly when I first heard him speak. That Manchester accent. Both my parents were Mancunians, but the place has brought nothing but misery to me. I've spent years trying to get every last trace of Manchester out of me, and when I heard him, I pretty well blew my top. I - well, as you seem to be close to him, I hope you might be able to explain to him for me. Something tells me that you're a more patient listener than he is. I'm sorry to involve you in my problems, but - "

"I am. Considerably more patient." She flashed him her best smile. "I'm a psychologist, and it comes with the territory. Fire away."

"Well…" He paused for a moment, ordering his thoughts. "I'll start at the beginning. I never knew my father. He was a police officer too - detective constable in the Greater Manchester Police. He died before I was born. My mother was a nightclub singer he'd met during a stakeout. They had a one-night stand and I was the result. When Mum found she was pregnant, she was determined not to seek help from anyone. She'd left home when she was sixteen because both her parents were abusive drunks. She'd pulled herself up in the world by her bootstraps. She knew that my father couldn't support three of us on his salary and she was too proud to ask him to help her. They'd remained friendly after their night together, and she was sure that he'd have done the right thing if she told him, but she didn't want that. She knew that he had his own problems, he'd quarrelled with his family and was on his own, just like her.

"She left everything behind her and came to London. Singing in a nightclub wasn't an option while she was pregnant, but she got a job as a barmaid in Soho, then when she was too big for that, she worked in kitchens. She can't have been paid much, but she put aside every penny she could spare. After I was born, she went back to work as soon as possible, of course. She'd made friends with a neighbour who agreed to look after me. I always called her Aunty Ethel, but she wasn't a relation. Mum had cultivated contacts in the restaurants and nightclubs, and she worked her way up again, from kitchen skivvy to barmaid to entertainer. She got a lucky break one night when the singer at a nightclub where she was working, had to go home with a stomach bug. She offered to replace her, and she brought the house down.

"It sounds like a cliché, but we were poor but happy. I'd never known that other people had more money or a more comfortable standard of living than we had, and as I'd never known my father, I didn't miss not having a father figure. I was a mummy's boy and proud of it. We were very close. But the good times couldn't last. She'd been thirty-five when she had me, and by the time she'd reached forty the work was drying up. She had to go back to being a barmaid. It was when I was five, in late 1983 - around _now_ - that she started to change. She was unsteady on her feet and slurring her words. It was only afterwards, when I was older, that I realised that it must have been because she was drinking too heavily, just like her parents before her.

"That was when she made her bad mistake. My grandfather, my father's father, had found out where we were living, and he got in touch. She must have been desperate by that time, realising that she was sliding downhill and that she couldn't stop herself, terrified that she'd take me with her, that having a drunk for a mother might ruin my life. Just as her parents could so easily have ruined hers. And so she broke her own rule. She contacted my grandfather and asked him if he'd take me on."

He stopped for a few moments, overcome by memories. "I can see why she did it. He was comfortably off, not rich by any means, but he'd be able to give me a better standard of living than she could. She'd know that she'd secured my future. But if she'd known how wretchedly unhappy it would make me, I think she'd have chucked the bottles into the bin, pulled herself together, and done everything in her power to keep me."

"Do you blame your mother for abandoning you?" Alex said gently.

Jason shook his head. "No! Never that. It was my grandfather. He wouldn't have stopped until he'd got what he wanted. Me. He'd lost his only son, and I think he thought that if he looked after me, he'd be atoning in some way for my father's death. He wanted me to carry on the family tradition. He'd wanted my father to go into the army, just like his father and his father before him. My father had chosen a better way, helping people instead of killing them. My grandfather had never been able to forgive him for that, and they'd parted on bad terms. He wanted me as a surrogate son. He must have seen how weak Mum was, and worn her down until at last she agreed. I was devastated. I didn't want to leave my mother and our little flat in noisy, colourful Soho, the only home I'd ever known, to go to an unknown home, in an unknown city, with a man I had no cause to like. But I didn't have any choice."

His voice dropped lower. "I'll never forget the day I was taken away from her. She'd been brave up till then, telling me how wonderful it would be for me in Manchester, with a posh new school, new friends, a fine new home, but that last morning she kept crying and wouldn't stop. Nor could I. I knew that big boys like me didn't cry, but I couldn't help myself. We held onto each other as though we were dying. In the end, when my grandfather was waiting to take me away, she had to prise my hands off her and tell me to go with Grandad and be a good boy. My life ended then."

"Was your grandfather unkind to you?" Alex said cautiously.

"He didn't abuse me or beat me up, if that's what you mean," Jason said quickly. He pondered for a moment. "In his way, he did his best for me. But he was the last sort of person to take charge of a frightened, lonely child. Very precise and military, every part of his life regimented. It was like living in a barracks. Two things were unpardonable sins in that house. The first, was to mention my father. I found an old album with his photo in it, and treasured that, but it was all I had of him. The second unpardonable thing, was to show one's feelings. I learned to bottle up an awful lot of emotion, very quickly. But the one thing for which I can never forgive him, is that he forbade all contact with my mother."

"Oh, Jason…"

"When he'd taken me away from her, she'd promised to write and visit regularly. But there weren't any letters, and when I asked him why, he said that he'd torn them up and that I had to forget her. I went mad, and he sent me to bed without any supper. He forbade me to phone her either. I wrote to her, telling her to send her letters to a friend's house, but he must have intercepted those as well. I tried ringing her from school and from friends' houses, but there was never any reply. I phoned Aunty Ethel's number, but she wasn't there any more, and the new tenant of her flat told me that Mum had moved away without leaving a forwarding address. I felt utterly abandoned, alone in that dull, cold, grey house, with that dull, cold, grey man.

"I only saw her once more, about six months after he'd taken me away. I was at school, and during break I saw her standing by the railings. She looked awful, very pale and puffy, with dark rings around her eyes, and she was crying. I hugged and kissed her through the railings, and begged her to take me away with her, back to London, anywhere so long as we were together, but she said that she couldn't. Then the bell rang and I had to go in to a lesson. I told her to wait for me after school, but when I came out she wasn't there, and I didn't know where she'd gone.

"I didn't tell my grandfather that I'd seen her, of course. I lived on hopes that she'd come back and take me away. But four months after that, my grandfather told me, as gently as he could, that she had died. I couldn't believe it at first. I thought it was a lie to stop me waiting for her. But it was true. He took me to the funeral. We were the only two mourners present. I still hoped that it was a ghastly charade, that the coffin was empty or had someone else in it. But when I saw it go through the curtains, I knew that it was her and that I'd lost her. I broke down, and it was the one time I can remember when he tried to comfort me and didn't tell me off for crying. But after that we retreated into our own separate corners again. I knew whom to blame for her death. She'd drunk herself to death in despair because he'd taken me away from her. In the years that followed, I made my own life as best I could, at school and with friends. His house was simply the place I had to go back to every night. I never called it home.

"You'd think that that bitter, hating old man would have learned his lesson by then, wouldn't you? But as soon as I'd left school, he put the recruitment forms in front of me and told me that I was going into the army. I told him that he could stuff it. I was joining the police, just like my father, and he wasn't going to stop me. He blew his top and said that my father had been a disgrace to the family and to the police force. That he'd only joined the police because he'd failed to get into the army, and that he'd ended up killing himself. I can't begin to tell you how I felt. I wanted so much for it to be a lie, but in my heart of hearts I knew that it wasn't. I hated him, but I knew he would never have lied to me about that. Knowing so little about my father, I'd made him into a hero figure in my mind. To be told _that_…" He paused. "Well, I lost it. I shouted that I wouldn't carry on his precious family tradition if my life depended upon it. All the rage and pain and torment that I'd repressed for all those years under his roof, came flooding out. I marched out of the room, went straight to my bedroom, threw some things into a bag, and walked out. I knew that I couldn't stay there any longer. I went to a friend's house and asked him to let me sleep on his sofa that night, and the following morning I got the coach to London. I had hardly any money, so, like Mum before me, I got a job drying plates at a restaurant and the proprietor let me sleep in the back room until pay day. When I'd saved enough to rent a room and get some presentable clothes, I went to the nearest police station and asked for recruitment forms. I've never looked back."

"So that's why you hate everything to do with Manchester." Alex's voice was heavy with pity.

"Yes. I came down here with a Manchester accent, and I worked hard to lose it. I use my mother's surname, not _his_, even though it's my father's too. I try not to even think of those years. That was why DCI Hunt's accent gave me a shock. But don't you see, Alex? This may be my chance to change what happened. Find my mother now, in 1983, and convince her not to hand that poor little boy over to my grandfather."

_Oh, God_. "Change your own past? Do you think it's possible to do that?"

"It hasn't happened yet. Maybe I can make it not happen. Save my mother's life and my future. Why not?"

"I - I don't know." Alex was flustered. "Maybe some things are destined. I'm a psychologist, not a clairvoyant."

Jason clenched his fist. "I'll try. I swear to God, I'll try."

"Is your grandfather still alive in your future?"

"I learned that he died about two years after I'd left. We never communicated again. I've never been able to forgive him. I know that we'd have had nothing to say to each other. All the same," he added reflectively, "if he'd been able to see what I've made of my career, I think he'd have said, "I told you so.""

Alex frowned. "But you told me that you're a success. A DCI."

Jason gestured impatiently. "I've sold my soul for a mess of pottage. I started out with ideals, just like every wide-eyed young constable. But it's become so hard to make a difference. Political correctness, human rights, equal opportunities, race relations, health and safety, paperwork, form filling, you name it, they put one thing after another in our way to stop us doing what we should be doing. I started out wanting to be a hero. To do things that would make my father proud of me. But I've been promoted into a safe job, and now here I am, in charge of Met public relations for the City of London. _Hah_!"

"But surely winning the hearts and minds of the general public is very important," Alex said consolingly. She was trying very hard not to show what she really felt. She shuddered to think what Gene would say, when he discovered that he had a PR man on his team.

"I'd grown soft," Jason said bitterly. "I hadn't realised it until today. When I saw that brute Harry Kempster lift that poor little girl onto the ledge and threaten to push her off, I seemed to feel something snap inside me. I remembered what I _should_ be doing as a police officer, so I did it. I was a hero, and it feels good, Alex, it feels good."

"It might not feel quite so good after the Guv's barbecued you," Alex said tartly. "And I'm afraid you'll have to get used to his accent. You can take the Guv out of Manchester, but never the Manchester out of the Guv."

"Understood." Jason smiled thinly. "But if he lets me be the kind of copper who protects the public and gets villains off the streets, I think I can learn to live with the accent. And the shouting and the violence."

"He will. He's dedicated his whole life to making a difference. You must try not to mind it when he shouts at you. He does that to everyone. He's a filthy-tempered bastard, but he's a good man."

"Pardon me, I know I mustn't speak badly of him to you. I saw yesterday - "

Alex smiled. "He and I had worked together for over three years, and all that time we'd been dancing around each other, until I left the station following a bad argument. Then I learned that he'd lost four members of his team, all of them dear friends, within the space of a week. I swallowed my pride and came back to him. He's grieving, just now." She glanced at her watch. "Look, why don't I leave you to get changed and clean up, then you'll have to present yourself at the station sometime today."

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much for hearing me out, Alex. I appreciate it. I've never known many people prepared to listen to me. I feel that what I went through as a child has made me what I am, lonely, suspicious, and finding it hard to form any kind of lasting relationship. But talking about it may help me to get rid of it. And in this place, maybe I'll be able to do something about it."

"If it helps, then I'm glad for you. Very glad," Alex said softly. "See you soon."

She let herself out of the flat, crossed the road, and walked into the station. Paul was on the desk, looking extremely hangdog, and she saw Tiger in his office, lapping at a saucer of milk.

"Ah, I see you found him."

"I'm afraid the Guv found him, Ma'am."

"Oh, no!" Alex didn't know whether to laugh or look horrified. "How?"

"In his office, Ma'am. Tiger had made a bit of a mess there."

"In that case, you're lucky you're still in one piece." She tried to sound severe.

Paul's voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "He picked Tiger up, Ma'am. I was so afraid that he'd kill him."

Alex smiled. "You haven't been here very long. When you know the Guv better, you'll know that he'd never harm a defenceless innocent. Even one that's wrecked his office."

"But he's told me to find Tiger a home, Ma'am, and now I don't know what to do."

Alex considered for a moment. "Why don't you ask Sandro? His wife and daughters are arriving next week, and they might like a pet. He may want a mouser, when Tiger's a bit older. And Tiger would be close enough for you and Terry to go and see him."

Paul radiated gratitude. "Thank you, Ma'am! That sounds a wonderful idea."

"Good. Have a word with Sandro this evening, when you're off duty. I'd better go and see if the Guv needs to be calmed down."

Between them, Terry and Paul had restored Gene's office to something resembling order, and its master now sat, booted feet propped on his desk, sipping whisky while watching a sweating Terry in the main office, sorting out piles of paper on Chris's desk. Alex tapped at the door, walked in, and closed the door behind her. Gene swung his legs off the desk.

"Drake. Anything to justify your continued absence?"

"A lot, Guv." She sat on the edge of the desk. "Jason's just been giving me his life story."

"And?"

"You were right about the issues. Jason was the result of a one-night stand. Father was a copper in Manchester, died before he was born. Mother went to London while pregnant and tried to make a fist of bringing Jason up, but took to drink. His paternal grandfather in Manchester took him on when he was six and denied his mother access, and she died shortly after. Jason idolises his mother and blames the grandfather for everything that's gone wrong with him since, and in consequence has a pathological hatred of everything to do with Manchester. Which explains why he reacted badly when he first heard your accent yesterday."

"He's come to the wrong station, then," Gene said grimly.

"_But_ he's grown disillusioned with the restrictions of police work in 2010 and longs to get out there, protect the public and wallop the bad guys. If you let him do that, I think he could even learn to love Manchester."

"Sounds like 'e could be a man after my own heart."

"By his own admission his childhood has made him a lonely, bitter bastard who's found it difficult to form relationships."

"Doesn't sound like the bloke who was lookin' at Lisa like she was the answer to 'is prayers."

"Most important, Guv, he's already heard voices from the real world. He was mugged. The attack was witnessed, and the witnesses have summoned an ambulance."

"Hm. Does that mean 'e may not be with us long?"

"Impossible to say. What it _does_ mean, is that he's already sussed that he's in a coma, and accepts that he'll have to stay here until he's strong enough to wake up."

"_If_ he wakes up."

"If he wakes up. But, just like Sam and myself before him, he's already talking about trying to change the past, stopping his mother giving his younger self up to his grandfather. Neither Sam nor I could change what had already happened, but Summers managed it. So what will happen when Jason tries?"

"Bolly." Gene put his glass down and caught her hand in his. "You know, we can't stop 'im trying. He's got to learn 'is lessons about 'is life, an' about this world, the hard way. Just as you an' Sam did."

"Yes. I know." Alex wiped a tear from her eye. "Poor boy. I couldn't say much to Lisa, she was too groggy, but she didn't seem at all surprised by her surroundings."

"Looks like she's been 'ere for sometime before joining us, then. Just as Shaz was."

"Yes." She looked around the office. "I don't think I've ever seen your office looking so tidy."

"Has anyone told you why?"

"Yes." She grinned. "I had the full story from Paul. You did well, not hurting Tiger."

"Hurting small bundles of fur, even psychopathic bundles, 'as never been part of the Genie's agenda."

"I know. The wonder is that Paul's still standing."

Gene looked embarrassed beneath her gaze. "He's one of us too. Y'know, Bols, when 'e first came 'ere, 'e gave Ray the creeps. The first sign 'e's given us that he's human, is that 'e cares about that bloody cat. It's a start. We might get 'im to the Railway Arms yet."

She stroked his knuckle. "We will. I've suggested that he ask Sandro to give Tiger a home. If Sandro accepts, that could solve a few problems." Her expression changed. "And I have news of Molly."

"What's that?"

"Layton's been arrested and he's in jail. She's safe from him." She resolved not to mention that he had been caught at Farringfield Green.

"Thank Christ for that."

"The Met has set up a charitable fund for her, and Pete's involved, so it looks as if he's being responsible at last. And if he isn't, I know Evan will be around to keep an eye on things. It's not much, but it's something."

"Yeah." Gene did not know what else to say.

The door to the main office opened, and Jason entered. He had managed to salvage his own boots and black jersey, but the jeans and denim jacket, taken from Lost and Found, were a reasonably good fit.

"I think he's come to apologise. I'll leave you to it." She squeezed his hand, slipped off the desk, and walked out, pointedly holding the door open for Jason, who entered looking as sheepish as he felt.

"Collins. Decided to grace us with your presence at long last?"

"Yes, Guv. Look, I'm sorry about yesterday - "

"Close the door." Gene's voice could have been used to chill an ice cream cabinet. Jason obeyed, and turned back to the desk. Gene had already leapt to his feet and slammed him against the wall, holding him by his lapels.

"Right, sunshine. Unless you like 'aving your intestines 'anging out like Sandro's spaghetti, you'd better 'ave a bloody good explanation for disobeying my orders yesterday. I told you to back off with the others. Why did you stay behind?"

Jason wheezed slightly, and Gene released his grip enough to enable his new DI to speak. "I thought that DI Drake needed protection, Guv."

Gene's eyes glinted dangerously. "So you thought you knew better than me?"

"I didn't think it right to leave a woman undefended, and I thought I might be able to help. Guv."

"Poirot was already guarding 'er, an' e's a top marksman. You didn't 'ave a gun, an' you were as much use as a condom in a convent. You left Terry an' me to get in at the back. For all you knew, we could 'ave been relying on 'aving you with us. You put the whole team, an' the hostages, at risk."

"I'm sorry, Guv, I thought it would be better if I - "

Gene rammed him against the cabinet again. "_Understand me._ While you are working on my team, you do _not_ disobey orders given by a superior officer. Especially not in a life or death situation. You do _not_ go wanderin' off an' playin' the hero. You do _not_ endanger the lives of your colleagues or members of the public. An' if you _dare_ to pull another stunt like yesterday's, Sandro'll 'ave to liquidise all your meals an' give them to you to drink through a straw for the next month. _Got that?_"

Jason managed to nod. Gene's second onslaught had lifted him off his feet, and he could just about breathe.

"Good." Gene released him, and he slid down the wall a couple of inches. While Jason got his breath back, Gene returned to his desk.

"I didn't do that simply to make a point," he said gravely. "A team can only 'ave one leader. A loose cannon like you puts everyone in danger."

Jason nodded, shamefaced. "I understand. One King of the Jungle." He had been given that tirade on his arrival the previous day.

"That's right. How much experience do you 'ave of working on the streets?"

"Not much," Jason admitted. "I've been in a desk job for years. PR."

"What?"

"I'm the Head of the Met's Public Relations Unit for the City of London. At least, I was, before I came here. Winning the hearts and minds of the general public."

Gene fairly vibrated with disgust. "The only relations you'll 'ave with the public 'ere, is to keep the streets clean of scum, protect the law-abiding, an' dump the villains in the porridge. Preferably with the imprint of your boot in their arses." Jason looked as though he was about to protest, but stayed silent. "You're a paper copper. That's why you didn't think what your disobedience might lead to."

"I know, Guv. Lisa Craven's in hospital because I didn't catch Don Kempster in time."

"No." Gene's voice was like iron. "It started before that. Harry Kempster's a psycho. Doesn't take much to start 'im off. When you popped up from behind the car, 'e could 'ave shot both you and Drake. You put 'er in danger. Then when you did your hero act in the flat, you knocked Harry an' Mick out, but you didn't know Terry an' I were there, an' if we 'adn't been, Don would've shot you _and_ the hostages. An' you didn't 'ave a gun."

Jason hung his head. "I'm sorry, Guv. I know that doesn't cover it, but - "

"No, it doesn't," Gene said curtly. "If my team or members of the public get hurt or killed on my watch, I carry the can. Whichever mad bastard it was who stepped out of line. You, Drake, Terry, Poirot, Lisa, all of you are responsible for each other's safety as well as your own. An' I'm responsible for the team."

Jason remembered Alex's words. _He lost four members of his team, all of them dear friends, within the space of a week. He's grieving, just now._ "I'm sorry, Guv. It won't happen again."

Gene's tone changed. "On the other 'and, it worked."

"Guv?"

"If you 'adn't talked the Kempsters into taking you as a hostage, Drake might've gone in, an' then God knows what would 'ave 'appened to 'er. I owe you one for that."

"Thank you, Guv."

"An' when you were in the flat, you kept the Kempsters distracted 'til Terry an' I were in place. All that crap about comin' from the future."

"But I - "

Gene fixed him with a searching stare. "I'll tell you the truth. When I 'eard you telling 'em about the Sterling blag, I thought for a moment you'd gone over to them. I did you an injustice there."

Jason flushed. "I didn't know you were listening, Guv. I - I can see why you might have thought that. You don't know me from Adam, and I only arrived here yesterday. For all you know, I might be a bent copper, just as Harry Kempster thought I was. But I can assure you, I'm not. I hope that while I'm here, you'll give me the chance to prove that."

"You just did. Four bastards in the cells, two of 'em with headaches you gave 'em. Just tell me one thing - _is_ there any gold at Heathrow?"

Jason swallowed. "I don't know if there is yet, Guv. It might be there, or the robbers might have moved it there later - I mean - I was only spinning the Kempsters a line to get them interested so that they'd take their guns off the hostages. I know that nobody can find it in this time. Because it won't be found until 2006. That is..." He tailed off miserably, cursing to himself.

Gene raised a quizzical eyebrow. Alex and Sam both knew that look well. "So, what would you 'ave done if they had taken you away? They'd 'ave rumbled you sooner or later."

"Well, Guv, I knew that they wouldn't kill me until we got to the factory, as they'd need me to show them where the gold was, er, meant to be hidden." Jason gained in confidence. It looked as though Gene was going to overlook his slip about the future. "I'd have used the journey to set them against each other. Divide and conquer. Convince each of them that if they knocked off the others, the survivors would get more of the loot. Like Chaucer's _The Pardoner's Tale._"

Gene's education had not extended to Middle English poetry. "And?"

"Well, once I'd made them trust me and mistrust each other, I'd have got them to attack each other and I'd get away in the confusion."

"You hope," Gene said drily. "Or they could 'ave shot you."

"Well, Guv, at least I'd have only been risking my own neck. The important thing was to get the hostages clear."

"Yes, it was. An' you put yourself on the line to save them. Well done."

"But Lisa was shot," Jason said remorsefully.

"Yes, poor cow. But the hospital rang this morning, an' she's still doing well." He fixed Jason with a cold glare. "You're going to keep visiting 'er?"

"Oh, yes, Guv."

"Good. Every time you see that plonk in 'er hospital bed, I want you to remember, every second, of every minute, of every day, that she's there because your bloody master plan didn't stop Don Kempster getting out of the house to shoot 'er. So that you won't ever be tempted to work against the team, ever again."

Jason hung his head again. "Yes, Guv."

"Good." Gene rose from his desk, advanced towards Jason, and grasped his hand. "Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, Guv," Jason said sincerely.

Gene released his hand and walked over to the cabinet, which fortunately had been spared Tiger's ministrations. "Drink?" He poured out two glasses of whisky and held one out to Jason, who backed away.

"No, thank you, Guv."

"Got scruples about drinking on duty?" Gene said scornfully, sitting on a corner of the desk.

"No, I'm strictly non-alcoholic. I saw what drink did to my mother."

Gene rolled his eyes in disgust. "Save us, a member of the Temperance Seven in Fenchurch East!" He downed his glass and started on Jason's. "By the way, what _were_ you doin' when you knocked out Harry an' Mick?"

Jason looked pleased. "Kickboxing, Guv."

"EH?"

"Kickboxing. Unarmed combat. It's one of my hobbies. I could give the team a demonstration if you like, run workshops - "

"You'll need to use a gun. I'll get Skip to book you in for firearms training. Starting tomorrow."

For a moment, Jason reverted to the terrified worm that he had been at the start of the siege. "Oh, no, Guv, I can't - "

Gene slammed his glass down on the desk. "Listen up, Sonny. As a member of CID, you will find that a lot of very, very nasty men will not like you. They will demonstrate their lack of affection by tryin' to shoot holes in you. They will not always be kind enough to come close enough for you to demonstrate your box-kickin' skills. _You will learn to use a gun._ Your training starts tomorrow, an' you will not go out on any more calls until you've got your certificate_. _All my team are armed bastards, including Drake. You aren't the exception."

Jason sighed. "Yes, Guv."

Gene relaxed. "Good man. Dismiss. Beer o'clock is five-thirty sharp, an' tonight the drinks are on you. You'd better get Sandro to set you up a tab. You'll need it."

Jason's heart sank. "Yes, Guv." He turned to go, and stopped suddenly. "Good God!"

"Why, what's up?" Gene could not imagine why Jason was staring at a corner of his desk.

"This picture - may I?" Jason reached out to the photo of Chris and Shaz's engagement party, which Gene had placed on his desk that morning, and which Tiger had knocked awry.

Gene shrugged. "Feel free." Jason snatched it up and stared at it in growing wonderment. He turned pale. "Please, who are the people in this photo?"

Gene was astonished by the urgency in the younger man's voice. "My team, taken just over eighteen months ago. The two in the middle are Chris Skelton and Shaz Granger. It was their engagement party. They're in witness protection now. Drake an' me, you know already. That's Viv James, who was our Skip before Paul. He was killed in a prison riot lately. An' - "

Jason had barely heeded him. "My father," he choked. "_What is my father doing in this picture?_" His finger stabbed at one figure.

Gene looked over his shoulder. "_Ray?_ "

Jason looked up at him. His face was piteous. "My father. I never knew him. He died before I was born, but I've seen his photo. _Why is he here?_"

Gene's mind was racing. "Ray Carling was my DI. Your predecessor."

Jason's face shone with delight. "Where is he? I must see him!"

"Sorry, lad." Gene spoke with unwonted gentleness. "He was killed in a shootout. You're 'is replacement."

Jason leaned heavily against the desk. "Oh, God." Gene did not know what to do or say. After a few moments Jason looked up with tears in his eyes. "But - but this is 1983. My father's name was Ray Carling, but he was a DC, and I was told that he committed suicide in 1977."

"Whoever told you that, told you a wicked lie." Gene spoke strongly. "DI Ray Carling was one of the bravest men I've known, an' I was proud to call 'im my friend. Could be a bit of a div at times, but a bloody good detective an' a fine man. He died saving 'is colleagues. Drake an' I owe our lives to 'im."

Jason lurched sideways. Gene caught him as he fell, deposited him in a chair, and quickly went to the door and opened it. "Drake!" This was beyond him, and the sooner he involved Alex, the better.

She came at once. "What's wrong, Guv? Jason?"

Gene was pouring out a glass of water. "Shut the door, Drakey. We've got a family reunion on our 'ands." He jerked his head towards Jason, who sat, cradling the photo frame in his arms, with tears rolling down his face.

"Guv?"

"Yes, Drake. It seems that Collins 'ere is Ray's little boy."

"What?" It was a pity that he did not have the leisure to rejoice in the rare feat of rendering her speechless. He pushed the glass into her hand and motioned her towards the huddled figure. "Oh, _Jason!_" She knelt beside him and offered him the glass.

He looked at her with a beatific smile. "It's all right," he whispered. His voice was choked with tears, but there was a look of deep peace in his face. "It's all right. I know now that I'm dreaming. In the real world, my father killed himself. Here, he was the hero that I've always wanted him to be. But, oh, God, if only I could have come here just a few days earlier. If only I could have met him here. Why did I have to miss meeting him? It would have meant so much to me."

Alex pulled him close for a moment. "Maybe you will, someday," she said softly. "In another place, another time."

Gene looked away and rubbed his eyes, thankful that Alex and Jason were too preoccupied to notice his emotion. As he turned back to them, Alex caught his eye and made a gesture of turning a key. "Drake, you know I'm not into deaf-an'-dumb sign language."

"His locker," she said quietly. "Number 42."

It took Gene a moment to catch up with her train of thought. "Yes. Good idea, Drake. Skip'll 'ave the spare key."

"What?" Jason looked up as Alex left the room.

"You drink up an' sit there a minute, Collins. You've 'ad a shock. Given us one, too. Are you Collins now, or Carling?"

Jason looked wistful. "I'll stick with Collins. It was my mother's name, and I loved her so much. My grandfather was called Carling, and I hated him."

Gene recalled Ray's words. _As far as my dad was concerned, I'd blown it._ "Fair enough. Collins." He cleared his throat. "I'm proud to 'ave Ray Carling's son on my team. You'll 'ave a lot to live up to, kid."

Jason looked up, swiping at his eyes. "Will you tell me all about him?"

"Yeah, of course. All the adventures we've 'ad together. It'll take a while. Ray an' me went back years."

Jason was able to smile again. "Then I hope I'm here for a very long time."

Alex returned with her arms full of clothing. "Jason, your father left these in his locker." She laid them on the desk. "This leather jacket was his, so were all these polo neck jumpers. He was addicted to them. They used to make him look like something out of _The Professionals._ He started wearing these shirts and ties after his promotion to DI. You're about his height, and he was broader across the chest and shoulders than you, so they should fit. It seems only right that you should have them now."

Jason reached out and touched them reverently, one after the other. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll be proud to wear them."

"Just make sure you live up to 'im, sunshine. Right!" Gene rubbed his hands. "Off you trot." Jason looked longingly at the photo. "I've got my reasons for wanting to keep that, but Drake'll find you another."

"Thank you, Guv. Thank you, Alex." Jason stood with difficulty, reluctantly put the photo frame back on the desk, gathered the bundle of clothes into his arms as though it were the most precious thing in the world, and slowly left the office. Gene nodded to Alex to close the door, and sank heavily into his chair.

"Oh, Gene, I'm sorry. He hadn't told me his father's name, or I'd have warned you. He said that his father was a DC with the GMP who commited suicide, but I didn't make the connection."

Gene poured himself another whisky. "I'm still workin' out how this all 'angs together."

"Do you know when Ray died in the real world?"

"1977. Silver Jubilee. He came to me in 1969."

"Jason was born after he died. That means Jason must be thirty-two or thirty-three in 2010. Ray was, what, forty-eight when he went to the Railway Arms?"

"S'right. A year older than me."

"We can't expect Jason to keep this to himself. He's far too happy about it. The team will adore him for it. So far as they're concerned, it means that Ray never knew that he fathered a child at sixteen."

"Hm. That may not be _too_ far-fetched, knowing Ray." Gene took a much-needed gulp of whisky. "An' if Collins starts spouting about dreams, the real world an' the future, 'e'll sound just like you an' Sam. We're all used to that."

"You didn't mind me giving him Ray's things?"

"Wearing a dead man's clothes? Don't know if it's appropriate yet. So long as it makes the soppy sod 'appy."

"I just hope that he doesn't mention Ray's suicide in 1977 to anyone other than us. And - oh, Gene, what _will_ we do if he wants to visit his father's grave in Manchester?"

"What d'you mean?"

"There isn't one, because Ray's in the Railway Arms. Or if there is, it'll show the wrong date."

"_Shit_. We'll 'ave to make sure that we keep 'im down south."

"He already wants to find his mother." Alex looked increasingly troubled. "She may tell him."

Gene emptied his glass. "If all else fails, Bols, we've got one big fallback. He thinks it's all a dream. Dreams don't 'ave to be logical."

"I hope to God you're right."

-oO0Oo-

Tired and happy, Jason unlocked his front door, poured himself inside, and switched the lights on. He was the only non-alcoholic member of the team, but he felt as high as a kite on adrenaline, happiness and excitement. He had arrived at Sandro's that evening wearing his father's jacket and one of his jerseys, and they had made him feel like a new man. Tonight during dinner, the Guv had introduced him to the team as Ray Carling's long lost son, and their delight had known no bounds. They had already started regaling him with stories of his father's exploits.

He liked it here. He felt a sense of acceptance here such as he had never known in the real world. Alex was right, Fenchurch East was a family. He had been back to see Lisa before beer o'clock, and had found her sleeping peacefully. He had crept away, asking the nurse to let her know that he had been there. Some time soon, he would have to share his glorious news with her, that he was on his father's former team. Life, or whatever this was, looked good.

He laid the jacket tenderly over the back of the sofa and pottered around the flat, turning lights on, drawing curtains, and putting the kettle on. Some tea would be just the thing before he turned in. He settled onto the sofa, cradling his mug in his hands, and reached lazily for the remote. There might be only four channels in this day and age, but there might be something worth watching on one of them.

He pressed the On button, and was rewarded with a burst of static. The picture broke up, and suddenly re-formed into a blurry image. Two people in yellow jackets were looking down at the camera. Trembling, he put the mug down.

"_Bloody morning rush hour traffic…"_

"_Severe cranial contusion. Extensive trauma. Brain damage probable. Team to stand by for emergency operation. ETA two minutes."_

"_MOVE, for Christ's sake! Or we'll lose him!"_

"_Jason? Jason, are you there? Can you hear me? Hang on in there, Jason. We're fighting for you."_

The pain at the back of his head was agonising. He gripped his skull, moaning. Then the picture broke up into static again and re-formed with a picture of Michael Fish standing in front of a map.

"_A depression over London and the South-East…"_

Gradually the pain ebbed away. He lay down on the sofa, pulling one of the cushions beneath his head, lying quietly until he could move and breathe again. With a shaking hand, he reached for the remote and turned the television off.

It must have been a scene from a hospital drama. But why had he felt the pain? Why the unusual camera angle? Why had the paramedic on the screen addressed him by name? He sat up, reached for his tea, and sipped it, letting it calm him.

Was this another message from 2010, like the one he had heard at the hospital? Did this mean that he would be dragged back to his dull, mundane life, before he had had the chance to taste the delights of this world?

"But I don't want to go," he said softly. "I don't want to go."

-oO0Oo-

Alex was in the bathroom, and Gene was locking up for the night. As he turned off the lights in the living room, the television switched itself on.

"Bloody 'ell!" He reached for the remote, but dropped it in astonishment as a familiar face appeared on the screen.

"_Nelson?_"

"Good evening, Mr Hunt, mon brave!"

"Nelson." His legs would not support him, and he sank onto the sofa. "What the bloody 'ell are you doing on my TV?"

Nelson grinned. "That's what we'd like to know. Ever since DI Drake left us, our TV's gone funny. Keeps on showing us what's happening where you are. I think it must be because nobody's ever left here to go back to you before. It's given us a link to your world."

Gene was gripped by cold fear. "Does that mean you want 'er back?"

Nelson shook his head. "Of course not, mon brave. She's where she's meant to be. When she comes back to us, you'll be with her, and you know that your work won't be finished for a while yet. I'm here because there's a very worried young man with me, who wants a word with you."

He stepped aside, and another well-known face appeared on the screen.

"Ray?"

Ray's face was twisted with anguish. "Guv. I've seen him with you, on our telly. Jason. My boy. The boy I never knew I 'ad. If I'd known about 'im, maybe things would 'ave been different. Maybe I wouldn't 'ave hanged myself. Guv, please, try an' find a way to tell 'im that 'is Dad loves 'im. Would 'ave loved 'im in the real world, if I'd lived. An' look after 'im for me, Guv. Please look after 'im."

The screen blanked out. Gene sat staring at it for a long time.

"I'll do my best, Ray," he said softly. "I promise I'll do my best. For you and for him."

**TBC**

**A/N: In the final shooting script for Series 3 Episode 8, on the Monastic website, the year of Ray's death is given as 1977. Matthew Graham has given it in a Tweet as 1972. I took the later date because it fits my story better!**


	7. Something Happened

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. BBC, Monastic and Kudos are the lucky ones.**

**Once again, thank you to everyone who is reading, alerting, faveing and (especially) reviewing this story. It means so much. Please keep that lovely feedback rolling in, and I promise to answer all reviews. I'll post the next chapter when I can, but it may be a couple of weeks again – sorry, real life is pretty desperate at the moment.**

After all the excitements, dramas and tragedies that had beset the team during 1983, it seemed only right that the closing weeks of the year should be comparatively peaceful. It was a time for them all to draw breath, take stock, adjust to the changes, and gather strength for whatever was going to hit them next.

Gene and Alex grew closer as the weeks passed. Their long talk on that first night had done much to clear the air, and their shared knowledge of the true nature of their world became the basis of an ever deepening and strengthening bond between them. At first, he was prone to black moods which even her tenderness and love could not dispel. She knew that it was his way of grieving for the loss of his friends, and with dealing with the terrible, reawakened memories which were haunting him again. She also sensed his fear of becoming emotionally reliant upon her, and how hard he tried to resist it. He was a proud man, and accustomed to depending upon no-one but himself. She was wise enough not to push him, and to let him open up to her in his own good time. They continued to argue, of course. They were too alike to live peaceably together, and both silently recognised the emotionally theraputic value of a rousing quarrel followed later on by rousingly good sex. Everyone apart from Jason was already used to the Guv and the Boss rowing on a regular basis, and battened down the hatches whenever they saw yet another fight looming.

She understood how difficult it still was for him to reveal his feelings. Although he tried to conceal it from her, he was still plagued by nightmares, and she often had to hold him and comfort him in the night. Her own nightmares troubled her less and less as the weeks went by. She knew that it was because, as she moved ever further away from the real world, her memories would continue to fade. That distressed her deeply. Gene encouraged her to talk about Molly and to write down what she could still remember, before it slipped away. The scarf which Keats had given her had vanished, along with the tempter himself, but she visited a school outfitters and bought another scarf, together with other items approximating to Molly's school uniform, which she hung up on a peg next to Gene's coat and her own, as though Molly lived with them and had only left the flat for a few minutes. She labelled the peg in large letters, MOLLY DRAKE. She dreaded that the day might come, when she had to ask Gene who Molly was.

Remembering their lost team was less difficult. They plastered their flat, their desks, and the walls of CID with photographs, and Jason's constant appetite for stories about his father gave the whole team ample excuse for many evenings at Sandro's, taking trips down Memory Lane. At first, Gene took little part in them. It was still too painful for him to talk about the friends he had lost. Alex craftily broke the barrier one evening by deliberately getting the details of one case wrong.

"There we were, in the deserted warehouse, with Burns holding Sonya at gunpoint..."

"It was a _knife_, you dozy cow!"

"Sorry, Guv, of course it was. He was holding a knife to her throat, spouting Biblical quotations and saying he was helping her to lead a good life. She was terrified, poor girl. I tried to persuade him to let her go, but he seemed out of his mind. I managed to keep him distracted while the Guv crept up behind - "

"Give over, you crazy tart! It was _Ray_ who grabbed him!"

"My father!" Jason said excitedly, as he always did, and the rest of CID smiled indulgently.

Gene was into his stride now. "Bolly spotted Burns's Escort in the warehouse, an' we went in to investigate. Ray took the ladder to the upper floor an' came down behind Burns while Bolly was doing 'er silver-tongued act. He grabbed the scumbag an' pulled Sonya clear. We nicked Burns all right, but the victims wouldn't press charges. Knew prozzies wouldn't get a fair hearing in court."

"Not all that much different in my day," Jason said gloomily.

"Still, we managed to nail the bastard on drugs charges. Turned out 'e 'ad ten kilos of cocaine in 'is car boot. Hidden in a load of garden gnomes, would you believe. Got seven years."

Jason frowned. "Doesn't sound to me as though a religious fanatic would be a user or a pusher. Are we sure he wasn't stitched up?"

"That was what 'e claimed at 'is trial, but the jury found against 'im. Scumbag's off the streets, that's the main thing. Ray knew a pub landlord, an' got 'im to give poor little Nina a job as a barmaid. Started 'er on the way back to some self-respect. _He _was the one who got a prozzie to lead a good life, not Bastard Burns. An' then there was the time we nicked Scarface Malloy an' charged 'im with running a disorderly house..."

He never mentioned Alex's mistakes to her, but that night, as he held her in his arms after their lovemaking, he whispered, "Thank you," and she understood. After that, he began to find that the long evenings of anecdotes helped him to recall his friends with happiness.

Much to his relief, he had not received any more messages from the television. He had not told Alex what had happened. She had told him that she used to get messages from home via her television, so he knew that she would understand, but he felt awkward with all this spooky stuff, and he did not want to upset her. If it happened again, he would tell her then.

Jason, meanwhile, was having the time of his life, or perhaps afterlife. Much to everyone's surprise, including his own, he passed his firearms training with flying colours, something which he attributed to his prowess with his Nintendo. Alex's efforts to explain this cryptic statement to Gene that night ended in incomprehension, laughter, and the mutual solace of their lovemaking. Lying in his arms afterwards, she reflected that it was the first time that she had heard him laugh, since the loss of Ray, Chris, Shaz and Viv. It was a start.

Once Jason had completed his firearms training, he became a fully fledged member of the team. Gene frequently took him out on cases, sometimes with Alex and sometimes without her. Although she knew better than to admit it to him, she regretted the dilution of their former one-to-one professional relationship. It had never been affected by Ray's promotion, but, as Gene was moved to admit to her one night in the privacy of their flat, he had continued to use Ray like a DS, even after his promotion. Jason was a different matter. Like Sam, he had been a DCI in his own time, and had been demoted upon his arrival in Gene's world. Alex accepted that developing his new recruit had to be Gene's priority now. Gene's heart had sunk on discovering that Jason had been a "desk DCI" in his own time, but he was discovering that the boy had a good head on his shoulders. He was keen, astute, and his deductive powers were a good compliment to Gene's gut instinct and Alex's psychological perceptiveness.

One thing which Gene missed sorely, was the presence of some "muscle" on the team. Jason might be good at kicking scum in the side of the head, but he was slighter of build than his father, and he hesitated to fight unless it was absolutely necessary. Gene yearned to have someone as physically imposing as Ray to tower over suspects and beat the crap out of them. He had to hope that the replacements for Ray and Chris, whenever they turned up, would fit the bill. In the meantime, he followed Alex's advice and developed the existing members of CID. Terry, Poirot, Davies, Bammo, Cotsey and Slate all found themselves seconded to the A-Team for one case or another, and he watched their progress keenly. He had never paid much attention to his CID "backroom team" before, but he was coming to realise that they all had their different qualities, their different strengths and weaknesses. Terry might be short-sighted and hopelessly sentimental about kittens, but he was meticulous in his research. Any case on which he worked, would be rock-solid when it came to court. Poirot was not always the brightest bulb in the box - Gene still cringed inwardly when he thought of the Esher 1923 girls' under-14 netball cup - but he was a crack shot, and second to none in his dogged determination. Bammo could be foolhardy, but he got results. Slate might hide girly magazines among the personnel files, and Alex nearly killed him when she found his copy of "Just Jugs" with the evidence for a fraud case, but he was the one who comforted a hit-and-run victim and administered life-saving first aid until the ambulance arrived. Cotsey's paperwork was even worse than Ray's, but he made the breakthrough in a seemingly unsolvable rape case when he found a cigarette packet, discarded by the rapist, at the crime scene. And Davies could act as though he had daylight between his ears, but he persuaded a frightened teenage girl to give the statement which helped them nail a flasher. They would all bear watching and developing.

One significant factor in Gene's emotional recovery, was the delivery of his new, sleek, silver Quattro. Privately Alex thought that it lacked the character of his much-lamented red car, but what it lacked in personality, it made up in elegance. Gene sighed over it like a lover, leaving Alex to feel like a car widow. The team, who had dreaded that the hapless Cortina would fall apart while he was driving it, initially welcomed the arrival of the new car, and then found themselves in terror for their lives as he drove even more recklessly than before, to test his new toy to its limits.

Sandro's family arrived in early December and took up residence in an enlarged flat on the first floor. Teresina, a curly-headed dynamo half her husband's height, promptly took over management of the kitchen and produced a stream of mouthwatering dishes which enhanced the restaurant's reputation and kept CID happy night after night. Her two daughters were adorable and became favourites with everyone. As Alex had predicted, Sandro had been delighted to give Tiger a home, and he became the girls' pet - and was, as Gene disgustedly observed, a spoilt rotten kitten.

Lisa was in hospital for a fortnight, during which time Jason visited her daily, except for one occasion when he was on a stakeout. At first he wondered desperately how he would keep her amused. He knew that, due to his lonely, inarticulate childhood, he was not a great conversationalist, and his inability to talk about anything which interested women had in the past - or rather in the _future_ - caused several promising relationships to flounder. Fortunately Lisa was agog to learn more about her new station and her colleagues, and he spent hours entertaining her with accounts of their current cases.

On 9 December, a fortnight after her admission, he found her wreathed in smiles.

"Guess what. I've been given the order of release."

"You can go home?" He was delighted for her, but felt vaguely disappointed for himself. Visiting her in hospital had become a way of life. He wondered if they would become less close once she was in charge of her own life again.

"Yes, tomorrow morning. The surgeon's told me that they'd have let me go earlier if I didn't live alone. I'd have needed a carer. Now they're confident that I can manage on my own, so tomorrow morning I'm out of here, and with any luck I might even be back at work before Christmas, so long as I don't do anything dangerous."

Jason grinned. "No more throwing yourself at bastards carrying sawn-offs."

''God, no." She frowned. "I can't imagine what possessed me to do that. I'm not in the habit of being so reckless. I just knew that I had to do it, so I did."

"Like me, when I knew that I had to offer myself as a hostage to the Kempsters. Don't worry, after what happened the Guv'll have you on desk work until kingdom come. He may seem a bad-tempered bastard, but he's actually very protective of his team. You'll have to learn not to mind that he shouts at you. He does it to everyone, even DI Drake. And when he finds it worth arguing with you, then you'll know that you've arrived."

Lisa smiled. "He's only been to visit once, and I could tell that he was as uncomfortable as hell about it. He managed to say that I'd done well but that he'd shred my stockings if I dared to do such a thing again."

"Ah. He's insulted you. That means that you've _really_ arrived."

She sighed. "It'll be great to get back home, but the flat will be a mess. I left dirty dishes in the sink that morning, there'll be laundry a fortnight old, I'll need to dust and hoover, and God knows what the fridge'll be like with all that out-of date stuff in it. And every single one of my plants will have kicked the bucket, after going without water for a fortnight."

Jason leapt at the chance. "No problem. It's Saturday tomorrow, and I'm not on duty. If you let me drive you home, I'll help you clean up and get you any shopping you need."

She brightened. "Oh, that would help so much. But it wouldn't be fair to take up your day off like that."

"My pleasure. You can do the same for me if ever I get shot."

"Thanks. It's a deal."

The following morning, he turned up at the hospital just as Lisa was being signed out and given formidable-looking bottles of painkillers. He waited outside the ward until she emerged, smiling, clutching a large paper bag full of tablet bottles and a plastic carrier bag which, he guessed, contained her ruined uniform. Alex had already bought her an outfit to go home in, some days before.

"All done." She waved the paper bag. "I'll need to take these four times a day for at least a month, and I'll have to report back here twice a week for checkups. They'll give it a week to see when I can go back on duty. If the painkillers make me feel drowsy, I'm stuck at home until the dose can be reduced, but if they don't affect me, I may be able to go back to desk work soon. I only hope I can. I can't bear sitting around at home doing nothing."

"Great," Jason said sincerely. "My chariot awaits. I've helped myself to the Vauxhall Cavalier from the car pool."

He guided her out slowly, knowing how unsteady she must feel. Once in the car, he followed the directions she gave him to a dour but quite respectable-looking block of flats in Tower Hamlets. Fortunately the lift was working. As they reached her front door, the next door opened and a stout, motherly woman looked out.

"Lisa! Haven't seen you around for a coupla weeks. Where've you been, ducks?"

"Hello, Mrs Williams. I was, er, seconded to another station at short notice." Jason felt her treading discreetly on his toe, and said nothing.

"Who's the fancy man, then?"

"This is Jason. He's my new colleague."

Mrs Williams looked him up and down as though assessing his suitability for her neighbour, apparently decided in the affirmative, and extended a ham-like hand which he took.

"Pleased to meet you, lad. Look after that one." She jerked her head towards Lisa. "Got no business running around after criminals."

Jason smiled. "I'll do my best."

"See you later, Mrs Williams." Lisa was evidently anxious not to prolong the conversation. "Sorry, but I simply have to sit down now."

She produced her key and let them in. She was clearly exhausted, and Jason made her take a painkiller and lie down. While she slept, he cleaned out the larder, fridge and freezer, restocked them with provisions which he had bought on the way to the hospital, dusted, hoovered, and did the washing up. As she had feared, nearly all of her pot plants were beyond redemption, and Jason sadly disposed of the corpses in the pedal bin, but a hoary geranium and a determined-looking Bizzie Lizzie both responded to libations of water and plant food, and a couple of well-filled window boxes had survived on rain water.

He was surprised by the appearance of her flat. He had expected something pretty and femimine, like her. But although it was neatly kept, it looked rather grim and austere, and most of the furniture looked as though it hailed from the 1950s. Apart from the depleted plants, just about the only other personal touch was the presence on the mantlepiece of some framed photographs of a middle-aged couple whom he presumed to be her parents. He knew that she had no family in London, and wondered where they were. He realised, guiltily, that in all his hospital visits he had been so busy talking about himself and his adventures, that he had not noticed that she had said very little about herself or her personal circumstances. _One more legacy of my cocked-up childhood. I never think that other people might be lonely too._

He woke her up in time for her next painkiller and made her a delicious omelette with red, green and yellow peppers.

"God, this is delicious," she sighed, her mouth full. "Sheer Heaven after a fortnight of hospital stodge. You're wasted as a detective. You should be a chef."

He laughed. "Glad you like it. My first job when I came to London was as a skivvy in a restaurant, and I learned a few recipes from the cook there. When I got myself a flat and joined the Force, it was the first chance I'd ever had to cook for myself. Luckily I remembered what he taught me."

He followed the omelette with fruit salad and coffee. Lisa sat back on her sofa, replete and relaxed.

"Thanks so much for everything. I don't know what I'd have done, if it hadn't been for you."

"Just don't run before you can walk," he said with mock severity. "I'll drop in once or twice during the week to bring your shopping and do any cleaning you need."

"Are you a home help or meals on wheels?" she teased. "Seriously, I hope I'll be well enough to do my own shopping in a few days'time."

"Well, ring me at the station if you need any help."

"Thanks."

There was a silence. He felt that he should go, but he wanted to prolong the conversation. He dreaded this relationship going the way of all the others.

"This is a nice flat," he lied.

Lisa shrugged. "It's somewhere to live. Being a copper means that I don't spend much time at home, so I've never done much with it except try to turn it into a greenhouse. I rent it furnished, and I've added a couple of bits, but I've never attempted to redecorate. I keep telling myself I'll do it up, but there never seems to be much point. I've been here ever since I came to London. That's over three years ago now."

"Where were you before that?"

"Surrey. Stockbroker belt. I moved into town to join the Met."

"Do your family live there?"

"Not any more. I'm an only child. Dad's a financial consultant. He and Mum are in New York. They wanted me to move over there with them when he got the job, four years ago, but I'd always wanted to be a copper, and I knew that I could kiss goodbye to a job with the police if I went to the States, so I decided to stay. They were very disappointed."

"Why? Didn't they want you to become a copper?"

She pulled a face. "No. They wanted me to be a stay-at-home little dutiful daughter who looked after them and baked cupcakes until she found someone suitable to marry. Preferably another financier. I wanted to do something more with my life. They were shocked at the idea of their precious little girl getting mixed up with the dregs and peelings of society. I don't think they've ever really forgiven me for putting my career before them. We're in contact, but we aren't close. But you only get one life, and it's mine, not theirs."

"I'm sorry," Jason said gently. "It's just like my grandfather. He wanted me to join the army."

She nodded sympathetically. "We're two of a kind. We've both disappointed our nearest and dearest by wanting to do something with our lives that they didn't want."

"Wouldn't call my grandfather _dearest_," Jason muttered.

"It isn't just them," Lisa went on. "You saw Mrs Williams. She's a dear, but very old-fashioned. She's convinced that policing's "no fit work for females"." She waggled her fingers. "That's why I didn't want to tell her that I'd been shot. I'd never have heard the last of it. What if CID are like that?"

"Well, they have the only female DI in the Division, and they used to have a female DC," Jason said encouragingly. "Just be prepared for the Guv to be a right sexist bastard to hide the fact that he's being protective, and if anyone pinches your bum, pinch them right back."

She laughed, and the laugh changed midway into a yawn which nearly split her head in two.

"Sorry."

"No, I should be sorry. I'm tiring you. Better lie down again. I'll head off now. Will you let me look in on you during the week, to check that you're all right?"

"That would be so good of you. Thanks."

Suddenly she was very tired again. He tucked her up on the sofa with a quilt and a blanket, and crept out. _So far, so good._

-oO0Oo-

He was as good as his word, visiting or phoning her every day during the following week. After a few days, he found that his services as a personal shopper were no longer needed. The soporific effect of the painkillers soon wore off, and by the middle of the week she was able to go to the supermarket by herself. On the Saturday, he looked in on her before going on duty, and found her wreathed in smiles.

"Cleared to return to work. I can start on Monday."

"Congratulations!" He nearly hugged her, but restrained himself. He didn't want to take things too quickly. "Well done. I'll tell the Guv."

"I already rang the station and spoke to the desk sergeant. You're one of the last to know."

"Terry'll be thrilled. He's been on tea duty as a punishment for the past three weeks. Oh, Lisa, it'll be great. You'll meet them all at last, it'll be Christmas before you know it - "

"And then the _real_ work will kick in," she said with a grin. "Filing, typing and loads of tea and biscuits."

"Pink wafers and Garibaldis are the Guv's favourites."

"I'll remember that. Talking of real work, hadn't you better hurry up? It's 9.15 already."

"Thanks, I'd better. Nearly all of us are on duty today because we all want next Saturday off for Christmas Eve."

As he rose from his seat, he caught sight of a large calendar on the sideboard. _Saturday 17 December_. The date struck a chord, but he could not think what it was.

"Er - didn't something happen today?"

"What, already?" she teased. "It will, if you're late. The Guv'll kill you."

"Yes. Take care. See you Monday, and - good luck."

He took the liberty of squeezing her hand. She seemed to like it.

He was barely conscious of undertaking the bus journey and the walk to work. _Saturday 17 December 1983. Something happened today. I know it did. But what was it?_

He was still deep in thought as he walked into the station, barely acknowledging Paul's "Good morning, Sir," as he passed the desk, and slipped into his place. A large file was dropped onto his desk with considerable force, and he jumped violently. Gene loomed over him like an Easter Island obelisk.

"Wakey, wakey, beautiful dreamer! You want to sleep on the job, you can join the fire brigade!"

"I wasn't asleep, Guv," Jason said defensively. "I was thinking - "

"You can think about this." One hand slammed down on the top of the file. "The case file for the blag on Barclays Bank in Cannon Street in April '81. Sort out the witness statements implicating Scott Smith as part of the gang. The scrote's been pulled in this morning for questioning on a string of jewellers' blags with the same MO. We need to pin this blag on 'im while we've got 'im. You're interviewing 'im with me, an' the brief'll be 'ere at noon. Jump to it."

"Yes, Guv." Jason was still preoccupied.

"Well?" Gene barked. "Are you waiting for the little pieces of paper to jump out of the file like Wondermashers an' form an orderly queue?"

Jason made an effort to concentrate. "Guv?"

"_Yes?_" Gene's normally generous patience was heading for its limits.

"Er, didn't something happen today, Guv? Seventeenth of December, 1983?"

"I know what _will_ 'appen, if that file isn't on my desk by 'alf eleven with Scotty's witness statements flagged up, an' it'll involve my boot heels dancing the light fandango on your spine."

"Yes, Guv." Jason reached for the file and set to work, but his mind was not on his task. The date still teased and tormented his brain.

_Why should today's date be so important? I was only five at the time, for God's sake. Did I go to a Christmas party today? Yes, maybe that's it. _

_Or is it important because of something I've learned about it since, in the real world? But if that's right, what is it?_

"God, what I wouldn't give for Wiki," he muttered, leafing through the file.

"What's wicky?" Slate demanded, passing by with an armload of files. "Sounds naughty. Something you get a tom to do for an extra fee?"

Jason blushed. "No, no. It's something I've used in the past to search through files. It makes finding results easier. Won't work with this one, though."

He knew that he was not concentrating. He might well be missing vital evidence on the file. If Smith walked free because he had overlooked something, he would never forgive himself, and the Guv would never forgive him.

Maybe a black coffee would help him to focus. He picked up his mug and headed for the kitchen. Still mulling over the date in his mind while he waited for the kettle to boil, he did not hear someone coming in behind him.

"Jason." He started and turned to face the newcomer. It was Alex, her lovely face very serious. He caught the fleeting fear in the beautiful eyes. "You asked the Guv if something happened today. What did you mean?"

"I scarcely know myself," he admitted. He glanced anxiously towards the door, and continued in a lower tone. "Alex, you know I told you that I come from the future."

"Yes, you've said that," she agreed cautiously.

"Well, I remember this date, but I don't know why. Maybe something important happened today - or is going to happen at some point during the day. But I don't know what it is."

Alex frowned. Looking back on it, she had realised that her memories of her own time had been patchy, ever since her death in 2008. Even her memories of Molly had become intermittent until she had made a conscious effort to retain them. She wondered now, how she had been able to predict with such certainty to Joshua less than a month ago, that Mandela would be president of South Africa in eight years' time. She tried to reach into what remained of her memories for anything concerning 17 December 1983, but failed.

"You mean, like a premonition?"

"Yes, I suppose so. But I don't know what it is. God, if only I could remember!"

"How could you possibly remember something that hasn't happened yet?" Alex was very worried. She knew what he was going through, and hated having to pretend ignorance, but she knew that she had no alternative if she was to safeguard this world.

"I've told you, I've already lived through this time," Jason said distractedly. "That's how I know that something happens today."

"Something to do with Christmas, maybe?" she probed.

He shook his head wearily. "Maybe. I don't know. Never mind, maybe I've made a mistake. I'm sorry, I can't expect you to understand."

_I do understand. Too well. But I can't tell you._ "Well, if you think of anything, ask me. Maybe association techniques would help?"

He shook his head, frustrated by his inability to remember. "No, no, forget it. Sorry I asked." He picked up his coffee and headed back to his desk. Alex watched him go with a heavy heart.

He found that the combination of his conversation with Alex and a black coffee with the strength of a weightlifter not only cleared his head but quite convinced him that he was mistaken over his worries about the day. He re-applied himself to the file, went through it with a fine tooth comb, and delivered it to the Guv at 11.15, satisfied that he had done a thorough job on it. He was anxious in case the Guv should make fun of what he had said earlier, but Gene was fully focused on the forthcoming interview.

At 1.00, with the interview concluded and Scotty safely beamed down to the cells, charged with the jewellers' blags and the Barclays' robbery, Jason headed for the canteen, tasked with bringing back the Guv's lunch as well as his own. He felt at peace with the world once more, basking in the satisfaction of a job well done and another vicious bastard behind bars. With the solicitor present, they had not had the option of threatening the little beast with the beating he so richly deserved for four robberies with violence, but faced with the evidence, and thanks to Jason's "softly, softly" approach, much derided by the Guv, Scotty had been convinced that it would be in his interests to co-operate with the police. With luck, the information he had been induced to volunteer would enable them to pull in the rest of the gang.

Joining the canteen queue, Jason reflected wryly that in 2010 he had always prided himself on his healthy but dull eating. Now, reckoning that in a dream or coma it didn't matter, he ate what he damn well liked. And the Fenchurch East canteen's bacon butties had the reputation of being the best in the Met.

"Hi, Doris. Two bacon butties to go, please, one with ketchup."

"Right away, love. I know just how you and the Guv like 'em."

"Yeah, fit to harden the arteries just by looking at them."

Doris shovelled the butties into two paper bags. "Ah, you can't fool me, lad. This place may not be Harrods' food hall, but I know just how you like a nice, crispy rasher - good God, what's wrong?"

Jason stood transfixed. "Harrods. That's it._ That's it!_"

He hurtled out of the canteen and down the stairs, unheeding of Doris's call of "But, sir, your butties!"

-oO0Oo-

As soon as Gene had returned to his office, Alex joined him there.

"Well, did you nail Scotty?"

Gene poured himself a measure of Scotch. "Yep. Lay down like a hearthrug an' spilled enough beans for a veggie restaurant." He sat down, took a long swig, and looked up at her. "But you didn't come in to inquire on my professional success, did you? It's bloody Collins."

"Of course it is," Alex said impatiently. She lowered her voice. "He says something's going to happen today, and his memories of the future are better than mine now. It could be important. We've got to do something!"

Gene slammed his glass down. "Like what, for God's sake? He doesn't know what it is, an' neither do you. He was only five at the time! It might 'ave been a visit to Santa or 'is Mum goin' on a bender."

Alex snorted. "I cannot _believe_ that you are taking this so lightly! What if it's something important, like the King Douglas job or - or my parents? What if lives are at risk?"

Gene jumped to his feet. "An' what if they are?" Through the glass door panel, he caught sight of Bammo and Cotsey looking in his direction. Alex had turned on her heel and was about to march out, but he grabbed her wrist.

"You take your hands off me!"

"You weren't saying that last night," he flung back, and the watchers outside looked away, embarrassed at having been caught watching what appeared to be yet another lovers' quarrel. That had been his intention.

"How _dare_ you - "

"_Bolly_." He had drawn closer now, and his voice was dangerously quiet. "You know we can't do anything. If we knew what he was on about, we could treat it as a tip-off, like you did with your parents. But he doesn't know, an' we don't. Whatever 'appens, we must _not_ do anything that lets on what this place is."

Her mouth had already been open for another riposte, but she closed it and nodded.

"Don't think this isn't as difficult for me as it is for you," he went on. "I told you it would be harder, with us both knowing everything about this world. We protect it, an' this is one of the prices we pay for knowing. An' besides - "

He never finished the sentence. The double doors of CID flew open and Jason came through them headlong, tore across the office, and barrelled into Gene's office without knocking.

"Bloody 'ell, Collins, where's the fire? An' where's my lunch?"

"Harrods," he gasped. "There's a car bomb outside Harrods."

**TBC**


	8. Guilt

**Disclaimer: Guess what – I still don't own Ashes to Ashes. Maybe next week…**

**Apologies are in order. First, for the confusion I caused by posting this chapter twice. After it was first posted, I spotted some typos, and in trying to correct them, I inadvertantly deleted the chapter and had to re-post it. Second, for the long delay in posting this chapter, especially as I'd left it at a cliffhanger. My livebox has been down, and real life (including family illnesses) has had to take priority. ****I hope you think that this chapter has been worth the wait, and ** I promise to try not to leave it so long before the next update! Once again, I must thank everyone who is reading, faveing, alerting and reviewing. The feedback really does mean so much.

"_EH?_" Gene stared at him in shock.

"A car bomb. Outside Harrods." Jason repeated. "Got to get everyone away."

"Shit!"

Alex had gone very white. "What information do you have, Jason? How did you get it?"

Jason paused for a second. Alex might understand, but if he let the Guv know he came from the future, he might be sectioned. But if the bomb went off, people would die. "Tip-off," he wheezed, leaning against the desk. "Just said - car bomb, outside Harrods. No make, no number." He remembered the bomb now. He had looked up the incident after working on the aftermath of the bombing of the London Underground on 7 July 2005. What he still could not recall, was when the warning had been given, what information it contained, or when the bomb had detonated. "Guv, we've got to warn them, or people will die._ Coppers_ will die."

Gene gave him a fierce, intense look, grabbed his phone, dialled, and started shouting into it. Alex took Jason aside. He noticed for the first time that she had gone very pale.

"Oh, Jason." She put a hand on his arm. "Was this what you were thinking of? Your premonition?"

He nodded miserably. "Yes. God, if only I'd remembered before - "

Gene slammed the phone down. "Into the Quattro, move!"

The three of them raced out of the office as though Keats himself were on their tail, leaving the rest of CID gaping. As they passed the desk, Gene bawled to Paul, "Off to Harrods, Skip! IRA bomb warning!"

They were in the Quattro and scorching away from the station with the siren on and the light on the roof flashing, before Gene barked, "Chelsea CID's already onto it. IRA phoned the Samaritans at 12.45 with a code word. Said there are bombs inside _and_ outside the building an' gave the car registration but no make or colour. Collins, yours said outside only?"

"That's right, Guv."

"Can't stop 'em checking inside as well. Yours might be trying to mislead 'em."

"But, Guv, what can we do?" Alex said desperately.

Gene's face was set like death. "We can be there."

He swung them round into London Wall, taking the corner on two wheels. As they hurtled along High Holborn, Gene's radio crackled.

"Guv, Paul here. Another IRA bomb warning. C&A on the east side of Oxford Street."

"That's a hoax," Jason said instantly.

"Bloody 'ell, have the shamrock-eaters taken over the whole city today?"

"The whole street's cordoned off, Guv. Traffic diverted down Regent Street. You'll have to avoid the whole area if you want to get to Knightsbridge."

"Ta, Skip. Out." Gene threw the radio into the glove box.

"Don't worry about Oxford Street, Guv. It's a hoax." Jason spoke with certainty.

"Noted, Petulengro," Gene snapped.

They were already near the junction of High Holborn and Shaftesury Avenue, and when they tried to turn down Shaftesbury Avenue they were enveloped in an almighty traffic jam. The closure of Oxford Street, on one of the busiest shopping days of the year, had brought chaos and confusion to the entire area, and the traffic was gridocked. Gene tried to back the Quattro out to take it down Monmouth Street, but they were hemmed in on all sides. Gene hammered on the horn like a man possessed and swore like a lunatic, to no avail. To Alex and Jason, it was increasingly, horribly obvious that they would be too late, but neither dared to say anything. Perhaps, just perhaps, in this world it would be different ...

The air was filled with a horrid, deep-throated boom which seemed to make the very tarmac beneath them shake.

"Jesus!" Gene gasped. Neither of the other two could speak, but Alex let out a little, despairing sob. He grabbed the radio again. "Skip! What the hell's goin' on?"

"Don't know, Sir." Paul sounded terrified, even in the safety of the station. "We're trying to find out. Terry's phoned Chelsea because you'd mentioned Knightsbridge, but nobody's answering the phone there and we aren't picking up any of their radio messages."

Jason opened the door. "People are panicking here, Guv. We've got to calm them down. Do you have a loudhailer in the boot?"

Gene's face seemed turned to stone. He nodded. "Yeah."

He pressed the button to unlock the boot, and Jason took the loudhailer. "Police. Don't panic. I repeat, do not panic. The alert in Oxford Street is a hoax. The cordon will be lifted soon. There are no more bombs in London today."

''How can you know that?" someone shouted.

A woman ran up to him, her face white with terror, and gripped him as though he were her lifeline. "What's happening? Why won't anyone tell us?"

Alex had got out of the car. "There's been an explosion in Knightsbridge." She kept her voice level, as though she were negotiating. "You are in no danger here. The police have cordoned off Oxford Street while investigating another alert, but it's a false alarm."

More people were gathering around now. "There's been a bomb!" a man shouted. "What can you tell us about it?"

Gene, still in the car, was striving to listen to his radio. He stuck his head out of the window. "If I 'ad some peace an' bastard _QUIET_, I might be able to tell you!"

His voice stilled the hubbub, but Alex heard angry mutters of "What a brute!"

Gene got out of the car, holding his radio to his ear. "Ladies an' gentlemen, there's been an explosion at Harrods in Knightsbridge. Car bomb." The crowd stirred, and one or two cried out. "We don't 'ave many details yet, but we know there are casualties. Police are clearing the area in case more explosives 'ave been planted. That's all we know so far."

A woman in the crowd burst into tears. "B-but my daughter, my daughter was going there this morning! What's happened to her?"

"Can't you phone her?" Jason said, puzzled, and from sheer force of habit he reached into his pocket for his missing iPhone. Gene looked at him as though he had grown a third arm.

"I s-s-said she's gone to _Harrods_!" the woman wailed. "I c-c-can't phone her there!"

Jason cursed silently. _Damn. I keep forgetting that we don't have mobiles here. How did people manage before we had them, for God's sake?_

"What Detective Inspector Collins means," Alex said gently, "is that you can call her at her home from a payphone. She may well have gone home before the explosion. And once you get home you'll be able to watch the TV for up-to-date reports. While we're stuck here, we'll share whatever information we have with you, but the police on the scene have to give priority to organising the emergency services, helping the injured, and keeping the area secure. Just don't try to get to Harrods yourself. The area's being cleared."

"Y-yes, I'll do that," the woman said uncertainly. "Thank you. I'll get the tube. There should be a phone in the station." She set off in the direction of Leicester Square Underground, walking unsteadily.

"Shall I go with her, Guv?" Jason said quietly.

"You are staying 'ere, Sunshine. The traffic'll clear soon, an' we can be on your way." Gene's eyes glittered. There was something very intense about him which neither Alex nor Jason understood, and which frightened Alex.

There was nothing they could do but wait and listen to the radio. At first the messages were garbled and confused, but gradually a picture of chaos and carnage emerged. It was confirmed that two police officers and three members of the public had died at the scene and that many more were injured. Gene smashed his fist onto the dashboard but said nothing. When Oxford Street reopened and the traffic began to clear, Gene tried to press on to Knightsbridge, but Paul relayed him a message from the Super.

"He says you're to come back here, Sir, and he said to tell you that that's a direct order. Kensington and Chelsea police are dealing with the situation in Knightsbridge. It's possible that more bombs have been planted elsewhere in London, and if any are found in the City, you'll be needed here, Sir."

"Roger that, Skip." Gene snarled. "Tell the Super 'e can sleep easy in 'is bed."

The traffic was still chaotic, but at last he managed to reverse the Quattro into Endell Street and get them back to the station through Long Acre and Lincoln's Inn to Holborn. Nobody said anything.

They walked into CID, grim, silent, and defeated, to find everyone crowded around the TV, watching the news reports of the tragedy. The cameras showed a scene of utter devastation, but everyone knew how much worse the reality must be, and how much the images they watched had been sanitised for public consumption. Every window was shattered and every surface was carpeted with dagger-like shards of glass and metal, some bloodstained. They dared not think what damage those daggers had inflicted upon the frail flesh of the bombers' victims. Half-naked mannequins leaned drunkenly out of the shop windows as though frozen in fruitless flight. The car bomb had gone off in Hans Crescent, at the side of the building. Cars were on fire, spouting black smoke. A squad car, which had been approaching the suspect vehicle to check it out, had taken the force of the blast, and quite probably reduced other casualties. The remains of the car which had contained the bomb were scattered all over the street, with the black vinyl roof dangling from a flag pole. Three civilians and two police officers were dead, and a third was in hospital, fighting for his life. The store and the streets had been packed with shoppers, and at least seventy-five people had been injured. Walking wounded had been treated on site by police, and army vehicles had been drafted in to help the ambulance service to ferry the more seriously injured to hospital. A succession of dazed eyewitnesses spoke to the cameras about what they had seen and experienced.

Alex clapped her hand to her mouth, a sob rising from her throat. Gene, still silent and grim-faced, put an arm around her shoulders, hauled her to her feet, and hurried her out of the office. Jason looked round and saw them go.

"The Boss takes car bombs bad," Poirot informed him quietly. "Ever since she lost two friends in one, two years back. Just like today, she an' the Guv got a tipoff and chased across London to warn them, an' got there just as the bomb went up. The Boss could 'ave been killed. Thank God, a little girl 'ad got out of the car, just before, and the Guv saved her. Your Dad didn't like car bombs either. Got blown up by one back in Manchester."

Jason nodded his thanks for the information without being conscious of taking anything in. He was weighed down with such a feeling of guilt that he wondered how he could still stand upright.

_I've been enjoying myself here, finding a purpose in life at last. But what if that wasn't why I was sent here? I'm in a unique position. I come from the future. I know what's going to happen. I should have used that knowledge to save those poor people from that bomb. If I'd been concentrating more on what I can do for the people here, and less on having a good time, maybe I could have stopped the bomb going off today. It's all my fault. _

_I remember now. I was at home in our flat all day, and Mum was out doing temporary work as a shop assistant to get a bit of extra money for Christmas. Aunty Ethel was with me. We heard a big bang, and I asked Aunty Ethel what it was, She said it was probably a thunderstorm, but I thought that odd as we didn't get any rain all day. Mum came back from the nightclub very late that night, and she said that they hadn't had many customers and the manager was very angry. I asked her why there had been no customers and she said that they couldn't get there because of traffic jams. _

_That was all I knew then. It was years later, when I was reading up the case, that I realised that they'd been shielding a five-year-old boy from a tragedy. _

_Did I remember so little about it today, because I knew so little when I was a child? Or was it just because I've been careless?_

_I wish I could ask Alex about this. But she's already upset. I'll have to deal with it on my own. _

-oO0Oo-

Had he but known it, Alex was echoing his thoughts. Gene had taken her to an empty interview room, where she sank into a chair and collapsed in floods of tears while he knelt beside her and held her tightly. He did not need to be told how the day's events had brought back the pain of her parents' deaths all over again.

"I should have remembered," she moaned, when the first torrent of tears was past. "I should have stopped it. I should have been able to save them. Oh, God, Gene, why didn't I remember?"

"Don't talk bollocks." His voice was rough with grief. "You know why you can't remember now. If anyone should 'ave remembered in time, it should 'ave been Calamity Collins, not you." He tipped her head up to look at him. "An' you know that you can't change anything 'ere that's already 'appened in the real world. That's a condition of this place. Doesn't make it any easier, every bloody time it 'appens, but that's 'ow it is, an' we've got to accept it."

She was still gasping with sobs. "But - but Summers managed it. He killed his younger self."

Gene nodded his understanding. "He could only do that because 'e was destroying a construct of 'imself. If 'e'd tried to do anything that changed what 'appened to other people in the real world, it wouldn't 'ave worked."

"But he said that in the real world, Carnegie and the others got away with Operation Rose because it was covered up."

"End result 'ere was the same. The gang were jailed, but it got covered up so's the public wouldn't know we'd 'ad corrupt coppers in the Met."

She tried to take a deep breath, but she was still hiccuping with sobs. "After young Summers was killed, I thought - I thought it was my fault that my parents had died. That I could have saved them. I saw my mother in a dream. She was angry because I hadn't saved her. And, and she said I'd get home… because I'm a mother…" Her tears flowed afresh. "I thought today was all my fault."

"No." His face was stony. "It was mine."

"_Yours?_" She stared at him, incredulous, her grief forgotten as she saw his. The look on his face could have split her heart in two.

"I should 'ave been there." His voice was toneless as he struggled for control. "Coppers died. What if Keats or Morgan was there, an' I wasn't? I was needed, an' I wasn't there."

"Oh, Gene." She reached out to touch his face. "Was that why you were so desperate to get there, even after we'd heard the explosion?"

"Yes. Yes. It was. An' I failed. All I did was break you up. Should never 'ave taken you near a car bomb."

"Never mind that now." She entwined her fingers with his. She had to be his strength now, as he had so often been hers. "We don't understand everything about this world yet, perhaps we never will, but don't you think that if you had been needed at the scene, Authority would have made sure that you were there? Just as you were for me in 1981?"

"Don't know."

"What happened today was a construct of what happened in the real world," she said soothingly.

"Doesn't mean the people there didn't suffer!" He pulled his hand free. "Doesn't mean they didn't die! An' I wasn't there!"

She felt rejected, just as she had that first night after her return, but just like then, she persevered. "Gene." She did not try to touch him again. "We don't know how big this world is. Whether there are any other guardians here, protecting coppers just as you do. Perhaps you weren't there because another guardian was there already."

Gene looked at the ground. He recognised the sense in what she said, but he disliked the thought of sharing his power, even though he wanted to accept the possibility that he had not failed.

"Who knows, maybe we'll meet one some day, and you'll recognise them, just as you recognised Lisa as one of us," Alex went on. "You said yourself, we've still got things to learn. Maybe this is one of them."

"Yeah. Maybe." He still could not look at her. His sense of guilt was too great to allow him to accept the comfort she offered. "Right, off to the bogs an' fix your warpaint. It's beer o' clock. We've got to get them over to Sandro's. Whether they like it or not."

"Yes, Guv." She seemed to retreat into herself. She did not look at him as she rose and walked to the door.

_Shit. Hunt, you daft bugger._

"And, Bols - "

She paused with her hand on the door handle, and turned round. "Yes?"

"Thanks."

Her smile was sad but beautiful. "No. Thank _you_, Gene."

-oO0Oo-

There was a pall of gloom hanging over everyone at Sandro's. Every person there, copper and civilian, knew about the terrible events which had struck London that day. Sandro had tactfully turned the televison off and kept the music low. CID sat at their usual tables, unwontedly silent, each lost in their own sad thoughts. Gene, Alex and Jason sat around the corner table.

"I am sorry, Signor Hunt," Sandro said quietly as he approached them. "I know you have lost colleagues today. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes. One steak an' chips, one lamb with mint sauce an' no spuds, one tagliatelle al forno an' enough 'ouse rubbish to sink the Ark Royal. Except for Captain Clean, he'll be 'aving 'is usual fizzy water. Apart from that, piss off."

"Right away, Signor Hunt." Sandro retreated.

"I tell you, Guv, if I drank, I'd be getting pissed today," Jason admitted nearly an hour later, still stone cold sober while Gene and Alex had sunk four bottles of red between them. It didn't look as though it had helped them much, but he found himself envying their ability to find any respite at all from the guilt and grief that gnawed at all of them.

"Be my guest," Gene announced owlishly, pushing a bottle in Jason's direction. "But 'fore you do, tell me one thing."

"Guv?"

"That tip-off. Irish voice, was it?"

"Sounded like it," Jason admitted cautiously.

"No code word, like there was with the other two warnings?"

"No."

"But 'e told you which bomb was real an' which were hoaxes?"

"Yes." Jason was realising, not for the first time, that the Guv, even with industrial quantities of alcohol inside him, was terrifyingly on the ball. He felt as though he were on the wrong side of the table at an interview.

"Why do you suppose an IRA man would do that?"

"No idea, Guv. It might have been a renegade, someone who didn't want the bomb to go off."

"Didn't write down any details, did you?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Guv. As soon as he said that there was a bomb, and told me where it was, I came to find you straight away."

"Pity. A full record might 'ave helped the police investigation. Might never be able to trace the bastard now." At the edge of his field of vision, Jason was aware that Alex was looking from one to the other of them, like a spectator at a tennis match.

Gene leaned forward. "So. When did you get the call?"

_Oh, help._ "Just before I came into your office, Guv."

"Ah-ah." Gene waved an elegant hand in front of Jason's nose. "We'd been in the interview room with Scotty for 'alf an hour, an' then I sent you straight up to the canteen to get our butties. I saw you go. You came right back from there into my office, yellin' about a bomb. So when did you get the phone call? You weren't at your desk."

"No, Guv." Jason was seized with a sudden inspiration. "I heard a phone going in an empty office as I came down the corridor, and I went in and answered it."

"Empty office? Which one?"

"That little dark one with the old wooden desk," Jason lied desperately. "With all the bicycles in it and the stacks of old files."

Gene's face darkened like thunder and his fist came down onto the table like an auctioneer's gavel. "Never go in there again. Do you hear me? _Never._ Whatever 'appens."

Jason felt afraid suddenly. God knew that the Guv had an uneasy temper at the best of times, but why should he lose it so completely over that inoffensive little hole of an empty office? Whatever it was, Alex clearly knew about it too. She had gone very white again.

"Roger that, Guv," he said cautiously. "But why?"

Gene leaned over the table and glared onto Jason's face. "Because the officer who used to work there was the biggest bastard in this world an' the next. If ever anyone deserved to burn in Hell, he does. No-one goes in there. No-one."

Jason managed not to recoil. "Sorry, Guv, I won't go in there again. I didn't know. Nobody had told me."

"Of course we hadn't." Alex's gentle voice seemed to quench the unease smouldering between the two men. "We don't talk about it."

Gene sagged, reached for his glass, and tossed the contents down his throat. Suddenly he was no longer angry, only exhausted. He reached for the bottle, and stopped. Time was when on a night like this, when he was gripped by defeat and despair, he would have gone on drinking past the point of knowing what he drank, in a vain effort to dull the pain. But that was when the alternative to staying and getting pissed, was to go home to a cold, empty, echoing house filled with his loneliness. Now he had something else, and he needed it.

"Bolly," he said thickly, and lurched to his feet. She looked up at him, at the grief and pain in his eyes. Without looking away from her, he reached into his pocket for a couple of £5 notes and tossed them onto the table. "G'night, Collins. G'night, all. See you tossers on Monday." Alex rose, her face full of understanding, and he grabbed her by the wrist and almost dragged her up the stairs behind him.

Jason watched them go. Even when they quarrelled so bitterly that the air turned acid, those two were as closely united as links in a curb chain. _They'll never be lonely again. I've been alone all my life._ He drained his glass, left some money on the table, and went upstairs.

-oO0Oo-

They tumbled through the door together, already clinging, kissing, claiming, devouring. Gene kicked the door shut behind them, locking out the rest of the world. They didn't even stop to turn the lights on. Alex pinned him to the wall, kissing him desperately, pulling his clothes from his body, scarcely noticing as he fumbled with her buttons and zips. Understanding his need, she pulled him into the bedroom and then allowed him to take the lead, let him shove her down roughly, rip off the rest of their clothes and possess her. Their lovemaking was a wild, alcohol-fuelled, frantic affirmation of life in the midst of death. Afterwards they lay, clasped close, breathing hard, letting fatigue and peace seep through them. In spite of everything, Alex could smile to herself. Thanks to her, he would have the deep, exhausted sleep he so urgently needed.

"Waste," she heard him mumble into her hair. "Waste of time."

"What is?" she asked softly.

"Us. All those years we could 'ave been together. Waste of bloody time."

"Never mind that." She snuggled into his warm bulk. "We're together now. That's what matters."

"Yes." He pulled her closer. "Never alone again."

-oO0Oo-

Jason walked into his dark, empty flat, hung up his jacket, and went through into the living room. The blinds were open and the moonlight streamed in, turning everything to black and silver.

He leaned his hands on the back of the sofa, deep in thought. _I failed to stop the explosion today. Does that mean that I can't influence events that have already happened in my own time? Or did I only fail because I'd forgotten about the bomb until it was too late?_

"I won't give up," he said out loud. "I'll make sure that my younger self stays with my mother. You'll never get that poor little boy, Grandfather. I swear it."

**TBC**

**A/N This chapter is dedicated to the victims of the Harrods bomb outrage on 17 December, 1983. I am indebted to Wikipedia and the BBC News website for much of the information it contains. I hope that nothing in it is too harrowing for its T rating, but if anyone disagrees, let me know and I'll tone it down.**


	9. Have Yourself a Merry Galex Christmas 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes, BBC, Monastic and Kudos have all the fun.**

**There now follows a series of Christmas chapters. Sorry about the unseasonability - if all had gone according to my original plan, this lot would have been posted around last Christmas, but my eyesight problems and my laptop's suicidal tendencies put paid to that. Anyway, here's the first of them, and I hope they'll still be welcome even out of season. Heavy duty Galex alert in this chapter and Chapter 11. **

**Continued thanks to everyone who's reading this, and especially to those reviewing, faveing and alerting. Your feedback is such a help. **

The mood in CID on Monday morning was subdued, but lifted when Lisa walked into the office for the first time, looking very trim and smart in her WPC's uniform. To her confusion, the whole office rose to give her a standing ovation, followed by bellowed orders for two dozen cups of tea. To the disgust of all the men except for Jason, she explained that she had already been working with the Met for three years and had had her bum stamped on her first day, so they did not have a excuse to stamp her again. Watching Jason, Alex reflected that that was just as well. He was far too chivalrous to do the deed himself, and had looked ready to sow murder all around him if anyone else tried it.

By the end of the day, Lisa had demonstrated that she could type at seventy words per minute, had located a file within five minutes of the Guv demanding it, had filed a festering pile of aged paperwork known time out of mind as "Cotsey's slag heap", and had memorised everyone's preferences for milk, sugar and biscuits. CID were unanimous in agreeing her to be a good thing, and bore her off to Sandro's for a welcome celebration.

"_Buona sera! _So this is the brave and beautiful young policewoman whom Signor Collins has been visiting so faithfully! _Bien venuto, Signorina!_" Sandro approached their table, flowing with greetings, with Tiger sitting on his shoulder.

Gene did the honours. "Lisa, meet Sandro, feeder an' booze provider in chief to CID."

"Enchanted." Sandro bowed and kissed her hand, nearly spilling Tiger from his perch.

Lisa blushed becomingly. "I'm delighted to meet you, Sandro."

"Just remember, Craven, he's already spoken for, an' 'is missus'll be cooking your supper," Gene added. "Play with 'is macaroni an' she'll poison your parsley. Then I'd 'ave to investigate your untimely end. Sandro, does Teresina know you're wearing 'er fur stole?"

"Not at all, Signor Hunt." Sandro had Gene's measure. "I am merely taking our youngest recruit on a tour of his hunting grounds. As soon as Tiger here is old enough, he will become our pest control system."

"Correction. He _is_ a pest," Gene growled. "Come on, people are dying of thirst over 'ere!"

-oO0Oo-

"So, now you're back, what are you doing for Christmas?" Jason asked Lisa shyly, later that evening. "Will you be on duty on Christmas Day?"

"No. Will you?"

"No." He was about to nerve himself to invite her out to Christmas dinner, when she spoke again.

"If I stay at home, I'd be all alone. I was talking to one of the nurses at the hospital when I went back for a check-up last week. They're looking for volunteers to help out there on Christmas Day, especially in the childrens' ward. The nursing staff are too busy to organise a Christmas party, and it'll be bleak for the kids unless someone steps in. I was thinking of offering my services for the day. It'll be a way of giving something back to the hospital. A thank-you for saving my life."

"How kind of you. That sounds a wonderful idea," Jason said warmly. "Do you think they'd prefer two volunteers to one?"

She brightened. "You mean that you'd like to come, too?"

"Yeah, why not? I don't have anyone to spend Christmas with either, and I don't particularly fancy eating turkey, all alone in my flat. It should be fun."

"Fun?" she teased. "Dealing with a platoon of excited kids? I was thinking of it as a way of enhancing my crowd control skills."

"And making them happy. That's important." If he was busy that day, he might be able to forget a five-year-old boy in Soho who might be enjoying his last happy Christmas. "No, seriously, it'll be great spending Christmas Day doing something for other people. I'll have some me-time on Boxing Day."

"We'll need it, to recover. Right, I'll phone the hospital tomorrow."

"I'll nick a pool car, as there won't be any public transport that day. Let me know when you need to arrive, and I'll be there."

"It's a date."

They smiled at each other. Gene, in his corner with Alex, listened and pondered.

-oO0Oo-

The following day, Gene made a few phone calls and summoned Alex into his office.

"Drake. Got a suitcase?"

"No, Guv, I haven't." She was mystified. In all her time in this world, her only venture out of London had been her fateful drive to Farringfield Green. "Why?"

"Get one. I'm takin' you away for Christmas."

"_What?_ But I've ordered the turkey!"

"Cancel it. Or we can eat it after we get back. We'll only be away three nights."

"But where are we going?"

"I'll tell you later."

"But, but - " Alex felt herself floundering. "We can't be both off work, and out of London, at the same time."

"Yes, we can. I've never taken Christmas as a holiday since I joined the Met, so I'm owed it. So are you. You were out cold last Christmas."

"But that'll mean leaving Jason in charge."

"No, it won't. DCI Redgwick of Fenchurch West has agreed to double up during the holiday. Keep an eye on this station as well as 'is own."

"You'd let someone from Fenchurch _West_ into your kingdom?"

"Redgwick's not a bad stick. He's worked hard to improve 'is station's reputation after the damage done by Carnegie."

"But why is all this so _sudden_?"

"Because it was meant to be a surprise, you bloody impossible tart!" Gene exploded. "Then I remembered I couldn't sweep you away without warning on Christmas Eve because you don't 'ave a bloody suitcase! So buy one."

Alex was deeply touched. Of all the men in the world, she would least expect Gene to make such a romantic gesture. She knew how embarrassing it must have been for him to plan it, and already she had come close to ruining it.

"Yes, Gene, I will. Thank you."

His eyes sparked blue fire. "What for?"

She reached over the desk to touch his face. "For the gesture. I appreciate it more than I can say."

He relaxed and grinned. "Don't thank me 'til you see what it is."

-oO0Oo-

On the morning of Christmas Eve, he hauled her case, brand new, and his, dating from his move to London, into the boot of the Quattro.

"Bloody 'ell! I told you, we're only away three nights, not goin' on safari!"

"The complaint of men down the ages in response to ladies' luggage," Alex stated in her most scholarly tones. "You _told_ me to buy a suitcase."

"Didn't tell you to fill it with ball bearings."

"It isn't."

"What's in it, then? Can't be food or decorations, they're laid on."

"That's for me to know and you to find out. It includes presents and some special clothes for Christmas. I got them yesterday when I went shopping with Lisa."

He slammed the boot lid down and faced her. "How, _special?_"

"Let's say that I wouldn't wear them when anyone but you could see them."

"Give me strength."

"Hmm, you may need it."

"Bloody 'ell!"

The journey out of London was as uneventful as any journey by car could be, with Gene at the wheel. The streets were already emptying as the cars headed en masse for the roads out of town. Alex remained silent until they were on the M1.

"We're heading north. Does that mean you're taking me to Manchester?"

"No. Derbyshire."

She turned in her seat to face him. "Why?"

"Long story. Starts back in '74, when a young Manchester bloke named Gerald Sharkey inherited a couple of hotels. Not posh, but decent standard. His trouble was, one of 'em was in the territory ruled by a nightclub-owning bastard called Freddie Billingham. He'd moved into Stephen Warren's patch after Sam an' I took Warren down, but 'e was a lot craftier than Warren, an' we weren't 'aving a lot of luck with getting evidence against 'im. Everyone was afraid to talk. Billingham was extorting protection money from all the businesses in his patch, an' 'e came down specially hard on Sharkey because 'e wanted to break into the hotel business 'imself. He hoped that if 'e made the shit hot enough for 'im, Sharkey would sell 'im the hotel at a bargain basement price. All the usual intimidation, smashed windows, fires, staff beaten up, plus 'e got one of 'is boys onto the kitchen staff, an' what 'e served up to the guests for dinner would've given the Michelin man a puncture. Nearly got the place closed under hygiene regulations.

"Sharkey knew that if 'e kept trying to fight Billingham on 'is own, someone was going to get 'urt, most likely killed. He's a smart lad, an' 'e'd kept a dossier of everything that 'ad 'appened. He came to us with 'is evidence. We decided to try an' locate Billingham's man in the kitchens. Sharkey 'ad tried everything short of firing all 'is staff, but he couldn't identify 'im. Sam went undercover in the kitchen as a temporary chef, with Annie as a kitchen maid. They couldn't identify the bastard either, so after three days I came to call, posing as a bloke from some posh hotel guide. Sam cooked me up a nobby cordon blue lunch, an' Annie rumbled the toerag just as 'e was putting a piece of sticking plaster in my Yorkshire pud an' some cascara in my gravy. They chased 'im out into the dining room, where I was waiting to be fed, so I joined in. The chase took the scenic route 'til 'e doubled back an' I nailed 'im trying to get out through the car park. Sam put on a macho act twirlin' the meat cleavers, an' the tosser sang like Cliff Richard. Together with Sharkey's dossier, it gave us enough to arrest Billingham and a number of 'is gang, an' once they were in custody, more people whom 'e'd been intimidating came forward. He went to trial, an' now 'e's doing fifteen years. Several of 'is boys went down too.

"Sharkey was grateful to us for saving 'is livelihood. He told Sam an' me that if ever there was anything 'e could do for either of us, we were to let 'im know. We didn't at the time. It might 'ave looked like the sort of perks I'd been gettin' from Warren. Anyway, Sharkey's expanded 'is business since. He's got six hotels in Greater Manchester now, an' two years ago he started a string of holiday lets in the Peak District. So when I wanted somewhere to take a posh bird for Christmas, I rang 'im. He's given me one of 'is cottages at a discount."

"How wonderful." Alex was astonished. "So where is it?"

"Peak District, above Burbage. He sent me the key an' a map yesterday."

"You bastard." She rubbed his sleeve affectionately. "This must be one of his top letting periods, and you've held him to a discount."

"Give me some credit, Bolly. It was free due to a last minute cancellation. It'd 'ave been empty if I 'adn't called 'im. He told me, this isn't a perk. It's 'is way of saying thank you for saving 'is business. The good we do comes back to us sometimes, Bols."

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes, it does."

The traffic was heavy, but with Alex as map reader, they saved time by leaving the motorway at certain points and racing along the quiet country roads. She was relieved that they did not come up against any tractors or flocks of sheep, which would not have stood a chance against Gene's driving. It was growing dark by the time they finally left the A6 motorway at Burbage. They passed through the village, and, following the directions Sharkey had given him, Gene took the Quattro up Bishop's Lane and turned off to an unmade track towards Burbage Edge, overlooking the village, where a substantial stone cottage stood. The lights were on and the lights from a small Christmas tree twinkled in one window.

He stopped the engine. "This is it."

Alex got out of the car, stretching her cramped limbs and stamping her feet. "Oh, Gene, look at this view! We have the village spread out in front of us, just like a map! Tomorrow we'll be able to see across to Buxton and Solomon's Temple. It'll be magnificent in daylight."

"Hm." He fished the key from his coat pocket and inserted it into the lock. "View's not too bad from where I'm standin'."

She looked round and caught him ogling her bum. "Gene Hunt, you have no poetry in your soul."

"Can't eat poetry, an' I'm hungry. Come in, an' we'll see what Sharkey's left for us."

He unlocked the door, and as he turned to haul the cases inside, a thin, bespectacled man with thinning hair came into the hallway.

"Mr Hunt! Welcome to Stone Cottage!"

Gene nearly jumped three feet in the air. "_Sharkey_! Bloody 'ell, what are you doin' 'ere at this hour on Christmas Eve, you daft bugger?"

Sharkey appeared uncowed, but then, as Alex reflected, he knew Gene of old. "Making sure the cottage was ready for you, of course," he said with dignity. "The wife and I are spending Christmas with her parents in Buxton, not twenty minutes' drive away, so I thought I'd pop over here to turn the heating on and leave a hotpot in the oven for you. I knew you'd be starved by the time you arrived, but it won't be ready for an hour at least. I hadn't thought you'd be here yet."

Gene was mollified. "Thanks, Gerry. That's kind."

"Not at all, Mr Hunt. I've been asking you to accept my hospitality for years, and now you have at last, this is the least I can do. Come on in, both of you, don't stand out in the cold. Shall I help you with the cases?"

"Nah, don't bother." Gene hoisted them with a determined air. "You'd never be able to lift DI Drake's idea of an overnight bag, you little runt."

"_Gene_," Alex remonstrated, as they entered the hall. "He's doing us a kindness."

"Sharkey, as you might 'ave guessed, this is DI Drake. She has a taste for chewing ears. Especially mine."

Sharkey laughed as he shook her hand. "Never mind me, Miss Drake. Mr Hunt and I go back a long way."

"Yes, he was telling me while we were driving up here."

"If it wasn't for him and his team, I wouldn't be a successful hotelier. I'd be either broke or dead. I'll never forget the sight of him, Mr Tyler and Miss Cartwright chasing Birdie Finch along the corridors of the Majestic Hotel, with Mr Tyler waving a meat cleaver in each hand and Mr Hunt shouting, "You're nicked for trying to poison a police officer!" Come along, let me show you round."

The cottage was cosy and beautifully decorated, with timber beams hung with ivy and tinsel, oil-fired radiators, a spacious living room with a glittering Christmas tree in one of the two bay windows and an open fireplace filled with holly. The dining table had been laid for two, with a vase full of winter roses at the centre. Bowls of clementines and walnuts, and a plate of mince pies, stood on the sideboard. The drinks cabinet held bottles of red and white wine, single malt, and Bollinger. The kitchen was small but splendidly appointed, filled with the tempting aroma of hotpot. The bedroom boasted a massive four-poster bed with a deep feather mattress, topped with cashmere blankets and a huge quilt.

Alex clasped her hands in delight. "It's all beautiful!"

"Glad you like it, DI Drake. Mr Hunt said he wanted something to impress a posh bird " - Gene glowered with embarrassment - "so it's lucky that this property was free. It's one of my best. Mr Hunt, I've put the turkey, potatoes, chipolatas, bacon, sprouts, parsnips and pudding in the fridge and larder as you requested, along with the breakfast food, including Special K for the lady, and there's a ham in case you don't want turkey on Boxing Day."

"Ta, Gerry. You seem to 'ave thought of everything."

"I hope so. That's what hoteliers are for. The food comes with the compliments of the kitchen staff at the Majestic. Some of them were there when Mr Tyler and Miss Cartwright went undercover, and still remember them. Sue Banton made the hotpot for you, she's head cook there now. You remember her, Mr Hunt, the sexy little waitress you took a shine to when you were investigating Billingham."

Gene blushed. "Yeah." Alex raised an interested eyebrow but sensibly said nothing.

"I'd better be off, or the wife'll send out a search party. The hotpot should be ready in about forty-five minutes. Give you both time to unpack and freshen up. Merry Christmas, both of you. Enjoy your stay."

Fifty minutes later, the hotpot was done to a turn and the tired, cold, hungry travellers were tucking into a piping hot meal in the warm, cosy living room. An hour afterwards, Gene was lounging on the sofa, flicking through the _Radio Times_, while Alex sat on the window seat, gazing out into the darkness. He knew her well enough, to know that she had something on her mind. He tossed the magazine aside and held out his arm to her.

"What's up, Bols?"

She looked round at him. "Nothing, it's just - no, nothing."

"Means it isn't nothing," he growled. "Want to tell the Genie?"

They had agreed on that first night, to tell each other everything from now on, but both understood that there were subjects that each still found hard to discuss with the other. He suspected that she was thinking of Molly.

She joined him on the sofa. "I saw on the church notice board when we were driving through the village, that they're holding a candlelit carol service this evening. It would be so lovely if we could go. But you've been driving for hours, and you're tired, you won't want to turn out again - "

"That all?" He could not conceal his surprise. "What time does it start?"

"Eight o'clock."

He looked at his watch. "Seven-thirty. Get your jacket on, you're nicked."

"Oh, Gene, I can't ask you - "

"You didn't. Come on, you daft mare, or we'll be late."

A ten minute drive took them back to the village, and Gene found a parking space near Christ Church, a mid-Victorian edifice with a massive square tower at one corner.

"Just one thing," he growled as he took the keys from the ignition and pocketed them. "If we've got to mix with the local yokels, we don't tell 'em we're cops. If it gets out that we're from the Met, we'll 'ave the village plod all over us asking about the future of modern policing. Unless anyone gets murdered or robbed while we're 'ere, we'll leave them to uphold law an' order. This is _not_ a busman's 'oliday. _Got that?_"

"Yes, Guv," she said meekly.

"Good."

The church was already filling up, and Gene and Alex had no difficulty in finding an unobtrusive place near the back. Everyone else appeared to know one another, and Alex guessed that she and Gene must be the only people present who were not locals. They had been welcomed at the door by a stout, kindly-looking lady who gave them their service sheets, and got a few curious glances from some members of the congregation, but nothing more. Alex felt a little embarrassed on Gene's account, and almost wished that they had not come, but she had her own reasons for wanting them both to be there.

Situated as they were, they had every reason, not only to believe, but to know, that there was a Divinity that shaped their ends. It was for Him that they worked. He was known to them as Authority, and He was the reason why they were together in this world. But neither of them had been in a church, or any other kind of ecclesiastical building, since Viv's funeral. Alex knew that their coming to church on this evening would bring back memories of that terrible day. She understood how Gene felt an awful, impotent rage against the God who had been unable to save Viv from his doom, just as she did against the God who had separated her from Molly. She had expected that Gene would refuse her request to bring her here. But she knew that if they were to carry out their work of protecting the souls in their care, they had to find a way of accepting what had happened, and of coming to terms with, if not yet being at peace with, the Authority whom they served. Perhaps the innocuous happiness of a Christmas service would be a start.

To begin with, Gene was a little tense beside her, but that might have been due to embarrassment as much as to any deeper cause. As the service went on, and they could sink into the anonymity of the congregation, it seemed to her that he relaxed. He joined in all the carols, and she revelled in hearing the sound of his voice. He had often decried his lack of singing ability, but to her loving ears, his voice, while not perfect, was powerful and true. Just like him. She sang along beside him, concentrating on the feeling of the two of them together amid the happy throng, while aware of the memories crowding around her of her parents, and later Evan, taking her to church during her childhood, and of herself accompanying Molly to carol services. Gene stood to her right, and she tried to make believe that if she looked out of the corner of her eye to her left, Molly would be there. But she never would be in this world, never again. That still hurt, and always would, but the first keen edge of her anguish had gone. In time, she would be able to remember her daughter with joy. She could only pray that Gene would be able to find the same peace and acceptance.

After the service, the vicar invited everyone to remain behind for mulled wine and mince pies. Gene needed little persuading. While they were sinking their first glasses of the steaming wine, they were approached by a fine-boned lady.

"Welcome to Christ Church." She shook hands with both of them. " I'm Mrs Hutton, the vicar's wife. I take it that you're Mr Sharkey's guests at the cottage?"

"That's right," Alex said politely. "I'm Alex, and this is Gene."

"I thought so. We're a small community, so visitors always stand out. We're always glad to welcome visitors to the church. Mr Sharkey told us that he has a nice couple staying for Christmas."

"Might not be us 'e was talking about," Gene admitted gruffly. "He 'ad a late cancellation. We're the replacements."

Mrs Hutton laughed. "Well, you seem very nice to me."

Her husband, a tall, slim man of instinctive elegance, wandered over to them, bearing a plate of mince pies, which he held out to them rather diffidently.

"Can I tempt you?"

"Ta." Gene took one. "Thought you boys were in the business of leading us _not_ into temptation."

The vicar smiled. "And so we are. Well put, sir. But in this case, tempting my flock to a harmless mince pie may save some of them from driving home over the limit due to the mulled wine." Alex was careful not to catch Gene's eye.

"These are Mr Sharkey's current guests, my dear," Mrs Hutton put in.

"Ah, yes, he told me about the detectives coming from London."

"_Shit_," Gene muttered, not quite quietly enough. Alex glared, and he added, "We're meant to be 'ere incognito. The lady's been through some bad stuff just lately, an' she needs the break."

The vicar's eyes twinkled at Gene's discomfiture. "Don't worry, sir. We appreciate that you are here on holiday. If anyone's bike is stolen over Christmas, we'll notify the station in Buxton. They were very efficient when some lead was taken from our roof last year."

Alex smiled. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it. You'll be wanting to spend time by yourselves over the next few days, but don't hesitate to come to us if you need any help or advice. The vicarage is just across the road. Even if it's only to get your windscreen de-iced." He cocked his head interestedly. "I take it that you're the owner of that magnificent silver Audi I saw parked outside?"

Gene lit up. "Yes, that's right. Bought 'er less than a month ago, an' I'm still finding out what she can do. 'Er predecessor was murdered in a shoot-out at an aerodrome..."

The two men wandered away, deep in conversation. Mrs Hutton retrieved the plate of mince pies from her husband's hands as he passed by, and she and Alex exchanged a glance of sisterly sympathy.

"I'd better take over," she said, sotto voce. "I'm afraid we've lost them for the time being. As soon as William starts talking about cars, he's unstoppable."

"I know how it feels," Alex said with some intensity. "I sometimes think that Gene would pay me more attention if I had four wheels and wore number plates."

Fortunately the gathering began to break up shortly afterwards, and Gene reluctantly tore himself away. He and Alex were both silent as he carefully took the Quattro up the unmade track.

"Nosy buggers," he ventured at last.

"Oh, no, Gene, they were welcoming us. These communities can be very tight-knit, it was good of them to make outsiders feel at home. I liked it. It feels so good to - to be _accepted_. Even though we'll probably never see any of them again. And you and the vicar got on like a house on fire once you'd discovered a mutual passion for cars."

"Yeah," he admitted, and turned his attention back to the road. She did not pursue the subject. The evening had given him a lot of emotional baggage, and he would need time to unpack it.

She was very thoughtful. Were the vicar and his wife, and the other members of the congregation, constructs - her own, Gene's, or someone else's? Or had some or all of them lived in the real world at some time, and been wiped out in some catastrophe? Gene was right. They still had so much to discover about this world. Perhaps they would never learn everything.

She looked out of the window, and caught her breath. "Gene, please stop the car."

He hit the brakes, mystified. "Why? Cow on the road, or only the daft cow in my car?"

"I just want to get out for a moment." She opened the door, got out, and leaned against the car, gazing up at the star-filled sky. Gene got out, leaned beside her, fished out his fags and lighter, and lit up. The bright golden flame of the lighter, and the glow of the cigarette as it burned, were a heartening contrast with the silver and blue expanse of the night.

"Stars," she said softly. "I've been afraid of them, ever since I saw that huge firmament of them above me, in St John's Path, and again when Keats ripped the roof off CID. But these are _homely_ stars. The stars of this world, not of the world beyond. I'm not afraid now."

"Good," he grunted. He blew out a plume of smoke and turned his head to look at her. The breeze blew her hair about her face, and she looked more at peace than at any time since she had awakened from her coma.

They remained there for a couple of minutes in profound silence. Then she sighed deeply, breaking the spell. "Take me home."

"Eh? If you think I'm starting back to London at this time of night, you've got another think coming!"

She smiled. "Gene. My home is wherever you are, now. And for the next three nights, that means a small stone cottage below Burbage Edge. Let's go there."

He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his heel, extinguishing the tiny flame. "My chariot awaits, Lady Bols."

They drove back in silence, both lost in thought. Amid the pitch darkness, the cottage was warm and welcoming.

"I'll lock up, Bols." He sounded uncharacteristically tentative.

"Thanks." She vanished into the bedroom.

He was glad that she had not argued, as he had things to do which she should not see. While they were unpacking, he had hidden a bag full of parcels in a cupboard in the living room. He retrieved it and arranged her presents with great care around the foot of the tree. Alex had left his there, earlier.

At the bottom of the bag was a bulging stocking. He got it out, and hesitated. He had noticed earlier that Alex had hung a red stocking, with Molly's name picked out in glitter, over the empty fireplace. She had done it furtively, as though hoping that he would not notice. The corner of his mouth curled in a sardonic grin. Great minds thought alike. He unpacked the stocking he had made up to surprise her, and carefully loaded the contents into the one Alex had left. Despite what she had told him about Molly, he had very little idea of the child's tastes. He had commissioned Susie, one of the WPCs, to buy whatever she thought that a twelve-year-old girl might like, and had to hope that Alex would be pleased with what Susie had provided.

He hid the empty bag and stocking in the cupboard, went around the cottage turning the lights out, finished up at the bedroom door, and nearly had heart failure.

Alex was draped against the door frame, wearing a sheer, floor-length, lace-trimmed pink silk negligée which flowed lovingly over her every dent and curve. One leg protruded, clad in an endless black stocking which terminated in a lacy garter. He swallowed hard.

"Bloody 'ell! Special clothes?"

"Some of them." Her voice was a husky, sex-laden purr. "You'll see the rest later. We have three days - and three nights." As she spoke, she swept the negligée aside to reveal her slender figure, only slightly covered by a pink silk baby doll nightdress.

A growl rose from deep in his chest. "DI Drake, I'm arresting you for indecent exposure an' attempting to corrupt an honest police officer."

"Come and get me, Gene..."

He did.

**TBC**

**A/N The scene of Alex and Gene gazing at the stars was inspired by another of alicia_mb's great illustrations on Live Journal - this one is in her entry for 17 September 2010.**

**Cyber brownie points to anyone who spots the Cranford allusion in this chapter!**


	10. Voluntary Work

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes… well, you know the rest.**

**I feel the need to apologise for this chapter because it is largely about my OCs and therefore may be of limited interest to some readers. Unfortunately it's necessary for the plot, as you will see when you get to the end (no peeking). Chapter 11 will be unadulterated Galex!**

**I'm afraid that I won't be able to post any more updates for 3-4 weeks because I have to deal with issues at home, including, at present, the illnesses of both my parents, which will leave me little or no time at my PC. If you send me a review or a PM and don't get a reply, I apologise in advance, and I promise to reply as soon as I can! **

**Continued thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, faveing and alerting. Your support helps so much to motivate me at a very difficult time, during which fan fiction is one of the things keeping me (fairly) sane.**

Jason whistled cheerfully to the carol service on his radio as he got ready on Christmas morning. One of the few things he really missed from the twenty-first century, apart from his iPhone, was his shaver. The 1983 model he had found in Boots' was primitive by 2010 standards. But the thought of spending the day with Lisa made that a minor inconvenience.

"_Today we remember in our prayers Jason Raymond Collins, who has just arrived at hospital and is about to undergo an emergency operation…_"

"Eh? Wassat?" He dropped the shaver and grabbed the radio.

"_And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn..._"

He put the radio down, shaken. He had not heard from 2010 since the night after his arrival, four weeks ago. Surely the ambulance had not taken taken all that time to get him to hospital? Did this mean that time in the future moved at a different speed to here? And did it mean that he would wake up after his operation?

He turned back to his bathroom mirror as the radio played "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and bent down to pick up his shaver. It was in pieces.

"Shit." There would be nowhere open for him to buy one on Christmas Day. He would have to use a razor and pray that he would not cut his throat.

-oO0Oo-

He had borrowed CID's Vauxall Cavalier again. He parked it outside the flat and rang the doorbell, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

"Won't be a minute!" he heard Lisa calling from inside. After a short wait she opened the door, wearing a full-length dressing gown.

"Merry Christmas." He shyly held out a bottle of wine and a basket containing a handsome potted camellia. "Something to drink and something to start off your new plant collection. Sorry, am I too early?"

"No, not at all, do come in! Merry Christmas. Thank you, these are lovely. I adore camellias." She closed the door behind him. "I was just getting changed. Do make yourself at home in the lounge, I'll water the plant and be with you in a minute." She left the pot in the sink and disappeared into her bedroom.

After a short wait she appeared in the doorway, and his jaw dropped. She was wearing a knee-length red dress, trimmed with fake fur, with a matching fur-trimmed jacket, black boots and Santa hat. He was aware that he was goggling, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Like it?" She twirled around for his inspection.

"You look great," he said sincerely.

"I found it the other day when I went shopping with DI Drake, and I couldn't resist it. Mind you, you should have seen what she was buying."

"_Should_ I?"

"Well, let's say that it should make the Guv a very happy man this Christmas. This one's fit for family viewing. I thought the kids might like it."

_Not just the kids_, he thought. "I wish I'd known. I'm going to turn up in a leather jacket while you look like one of Santa's elves."

She laughed. "Oh, no, you've got to look the part. I told the ward sister that I'm bringing a real, live detective with me, and she's bound to have told the children. At least some of the older kids will have seen _The Professionals_, so they'll be expecting you to look like Martin Shaw or Lewis Collins. I expect to be dealing with the girls. You'll be telling police stories to the boys." She reached under the coffee table and brought out a gift-wrapped parcel. "Merry Christmas."

"Oh, thank you!" He tore the paper off and found a soft lambswool polo neck sweater in a muted grey-blue.

"I hope it's the right size," she said shyly. "It's Marks and Sparks, so you can change it if you need to."

"Thanks. It's great."

"Sorry it's not very original, but I know you like polo necks."

"Yes. My father did too."

"I know." She looked at her watch. "Nine-thirty. The ward sister's expecting us for ten."

"Right, let's fire up the Cavalier."

-oO0Oo-

The ward sister was a formidable female who reminded Jason of a slimmed-down version of Hattie Jacques in the _Carry On_ films.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Craven, Mr Collins. We're very grateful to you for coming. It could make such a difference to the children."

"Just let us know what we can do to help," Lisa said briskly.

"Well, they've been served with their breakfast, and we'll be letting visitors in soon. We relax the rules for visiting hours on Christmas Day. That's when it starts getting difficult. Most of the children will be visited by their families, but there are a couple who rarely or never have visitors. Georgie Ferrell in the bed in the corner, poor scrap, and Mandy Esham in the fourth bed along on the other side. It would be good if you could give them some attention when the others are with their families. Apart from that, if you could read them stories, organise games - nothing rough, of course - and generally help to make the place feel festive, that would be a tremendous help. Christmas dinner will be served at one o'clock, and Father Christmas, alias Mr Harper, one of the surgeons, will be visiting after dinner."

"We'll do what we can," Jason promised.

They were shown into the ward. It was clear that some were too frail to be moved from their beds, while Jason mentally classified others as "walking wounded". As Lisa had anticpated, her outfit caught the childrens' attention immediately, and they clustered around her eagerly.

"D-do you work for Father Christmas?" one little girl asked, awestruck.

"No," Lisa replied truthfully, "but I help him out sometimes. He's very busy today, of course, so he's sent the two of us to let all of you know that he'll be along later, after you've had your dinner." The cheer which greeted this announcement would have justified the Guv in slapping a noise control order on the place if he had been in the neighbourhood. "This is my friend Jason. He's a policeman." Jason reflected that while in his own day, that statement would probably make the children mistrust him, here at least some of them looked enthusiastic.

That morning was more exhausting than dealing with an armed blag. He read _Peter Rabbit_ and _The Tailor of Gloucester_ to a six-year-old girl who was connected to a network of tubes and wires, and was so weak that she could only smile to thank him. He allowed himself to be beaten hollow at Rummy by three children aged between seven and nine, one of whom he was certain would have a future career as a card sharp. He organised the more mobile children into playing Oranges and Lemons, Musical Chairs, Blind Man's Buff and Pass the Parcel. As Lisa had prophesied, he attracted a devoted following among the older boys, who surrounded him craving stories of cops and robbers. He obliged with expurgated versions of his own exploits in the weeks since he had joined CID. _Four weeks tomorrow. Good God, it already seems like years. _His juvenile audience was entranced and begged for more. He was so busy that he caught no more than an occasional glimpse of Lisa, reading the Christmas story to toddlers, organising a carol singsong, showing a seven-year-old girl how to embroider. He was not surprised to find that she was a natural with the kids. What he had not expected, was that he appeared to be, too.

"Mister!" A small hand tugged at the hem of his leather jacket. He looked a long way down to see a pale, freckled, snub-nosed face, topped by bright red hair, gazing earnestly up at him. He recognised Georgie Ferrell, a member of his now-dispersed audience. The boy to whom he and Lisa had been asked to pay particular attention.

"Hello?" He gave the poor scrap what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"You're not a policeman."

Jason crouched down so that he and Georgie could face each other eye to eye. "Now, what makes you think that?"

Georgie looked accusing. "You 'aven't got a helmet. Or a uniform."

"Ah, but that's because I'm a different sort of policeman."

Georgie was unconvinced. "How, different?"

Jason walked them both back to Georgie's bed and they both sat on it. "Well, if you see a policeman in the street, with his helmet and his uniform, you know that he's a policeman, don't you?"

"Yeah," Georgie agreed.

"You'd see him directing the traffic and helping people, and if someone does something wrong, like stealing - "

"Or hitting people," Georgie put in.

"Yes, or like hitting people, then he'll try to stop it and arrest the people who are doing it. But sometimes you need a different sort of a policeman."

"Why?"

"When a crime has been committed, and we need to work out who's done it and catch them before they can do it again. Or if we're watching someone and need to stop them before they commit a crime." Georgie still looked sceptical. "For instance, if we know that someone plans to rob a bank. If he sees a policeman in a bright, shiny helmet following him, he'll run away and we won't be able to catch him. But if he sees me, or any of my colleagues, then he won't know who we are, and we'll have a better chance of catching him."

"If you don't look like a policeman, 'ow can you prove you are one?"

"With this." Jason produced his warrant card from his pocket. "See, it has my picture and my name, and my badge. All policemen have one of these, whether they are in uniform or not. I produce it when I need to show who I am, and when I arrest people."

Georgie ran his finger over the surface. "Looks nice. Do you catch a lot of bad people?"

"Yes, quite a lot."

"_Really_ bad people?"

"Yes. I'm afraid some of them are very bad indeed."

Georgie fixed him with an earnest gaze. "Then I want you to arrest my Dad."

"Good heavens!" That was the last thing Jason had expected him to say. "Why would you want me to do that?"

Georgie's voice dropped very low. "Because I want him to stop hitting my Mum. She thinks I don't know about it, but I do. I've 'eard 'er screaming, after I've gone to bed, an' I've seen the bruises on 'er face the next day. We ran away from 'im, but she's always scared 'e'll find us. That's why she can't come an' see me 'ere."

Jason struggled with his shock. _Dear Lord, I thought I had a bad time when I was his age, but it was nothing compared to this._ "Well," he said awkwardly, "of course we'll try, but it'll all depend on whether we can find him. What's his name?"

"Robert Anthony Ferrell. He's thirty-seven. Tall, thin, black curly hair. Doesn't shave." The boy had plainly watched crime programmes on TV and knew the information he had to give. "Don't know where 'e is now. Just want 'im away from my Mum for good."

"Thank you for telling me this." Jason spoke gravely, man to man. "We'll do our best, and if we catch him, I'll let you know."

"Thanks, mister." Georgie was equally solemn. "An' if you do, I'll believe you're a real policeman." He held out his hand, and Jason shook it.

"Done. Gentlemens' agreement."

"Excuse me." A nurse bustled up with a loaded tray. "It's time to serve this young man his Christmas dinner, and yours is ready too, Mr Collins."

"Thanks." Jason stood up, pleased to see how the boy's face lit up at the sight of the heaped plate set before him. "Enjoy, Georgie. See you later."

After what he had heard, he didn't feel hungry, but he joined Lisa and the ward staff at a trestle table to dine off turkey and the trimmings, followed by a Christmas pudding composed of one part fruit, three parts suet and six parts industrial cement, softened by glutinous custard. By now, he had stopped feeling surprised that his subconscious could invent such a disgusting dessert.

"Hope to God none of the kids are in here with digestive complaints," Lisa muttered to Jason.

"They'll have them after this if they hadn't already," Jason muttered back. "I shouldn't worry. Kids' digestions are pretty resilient." _Not just their digestions_, he thought, remembering Georgie and himself.

As soon as the dishes had been cleared away, Jason and Lisa helped the staff to remove the trestle tables, just in time for the arrival of a very important visitor.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Mr Harper, a corpulent surgeon with a big white beard which, so one of the nurses assured Lisa, was all his own, strode through the double doors wearing the regulation long red robe and hood, followed by a couple of doctors carrying sacks full of presents which had been donated to the hospital by wellwishers. All the children who could move, made a beeline for him, and Jason and Lisa were fully occupied keeping them in order, making the more impatient patients wait their turn, and sharing the childrens' joy (or, in one case, unforgivable disdain) when they unwrapped their gifts. Jason was moved almost to tears at the sight of Georgie, sitting on his bed, gazing with shining eyes at a small grey teddy bear and hugging it as though he would never let it go. _He's made a friend for life,_ he thought, remembering how he had confided in his own bear during those dark days after he had been taken from his mother.

After all the mobile children had been seen, Mr Harper toured around the bedbound patients, sitting with each for a few minutes, talking to them, and giving them a present. Lisa was sitting with Mandy Esham when he reached her.

"Hello, Mandy my dear." Mr Harper had taken care to memorise all the childrens' names. "And how are you, this lovely Christmas Day?"

"I'm very well, thank you, Santa." Mandy's response was polite but listless.

"And what would you like for Chrismas?" He beckoned to one of the doctors, who stepped forward with his sack.

"I just want to see my Mummy and Daddy again." Mandy was almost crying. "I haven't seen them since I came in here."

A nurse standing beside Lisa had to turn away and wipe her eyes. "Their car crashed with all three of them in it," she murmured to Lisa. "Mr Esham's in a coma and they fear brain damage. Mrs Esham's conscious, but she was badly injured. The doctors haven't dared tell Mandy yet."

Mr Harper lost his composure for a moment, but recovered quickly. "Well, my dear, if you promise to be a very good girl and do what the doctors and nurses tell you, I may be able to do something about that."

Mandy brightened. "Really?"

"Do you promise?"

"Yes!"

He signed to the other doctor, who opened a door, and a porter pushed in a wheelchair containing a frail, pale woman wrapped in blankets and shawls.

"Mummy!" Mandy made to get out of bed as the her mother was wheeled towards her, but Mr Harper held her gently but firmly in place.

"Now, Mandy, you promised to be a good girl. That means staying where you are until you're strong enough to move. Here's your Mummy, but you must be very careful not to hug her too hard, because she's been hurt too."

The porter wheeled Mrs Esham over to the bed, and she reached out and took Mandy in her arms, holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world. They were both in tears.

"Mandy, oh, my darling, don't cry, I'm here now. I'm here."

Jason had to turn away. How bloody unfair life was. _Mandy's got her mother back, and I never did._ He slipped away through the crowd, many of whom were weeping openly, and out into the corridor. He deserved a break.

"Mummy." Mandy pulled back and looked at her mother. "Where's Daddy?"

Mrs Esham's lip quivered. "He's asleep now, darling. He was hurt too, and the doctors say that he has to sleep a lot to get better. We'll both go to see him soon, when we're well enough. Maybe - maybe he'll wake up when he hears your voice."

Lisa gently urged the crowd away, to leave mother and daughter alone together. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen a slim, dark man sitting on Georgie's bed and giving him a toy train. He had gone now, and Georgie had cast it aside and returned to contemplation of his bear. Her conscience smote her, that she had not paid him any attention yet. She moved over towards his bed.

"Oh, Georgie, what a lovely engine! Aren't you lucky!"

Georgie turned troubled eyes towards her. "Don't want it."

"But why ever not?"

"My Dad came 'ere to give it to me, an' I hate him." He beckoned her closer and whispered in her ear. "He's come 'ere to pinch things, I know he has. He wouldn't 'ave come if there wasn't something in it for 'im."

Lisa regarded him very seriously. "Are you sure you aren't just trying to get him into trouble because you don't like him?"

Georgie looked shocked. "No, Miss! Promise! Cross my heart an' hope to die. But if you find 'im, don't tell 'im I said so, or he'll kill me an' my Mum."

Lisa came to a swift decision. Georgie might be making it all up. But today, when the hospital was awash with extra visitors, gifts and charitable donations, there would be easy pickings for the criminally minded. A quick check would do no harm. "Where is he?"

Georgie pointed to a side door. "Went out that way."

"Thanks."

-oO0Oo-

Jason leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He appreciated the quiet of the corridor after the relentless noise and bustle of the morning. He barely noticed someone brushing past him with a murmured word of excuse. About a minute later, he heard footsteps approaching and opened his eyes to see Lisa standing in front of him.

"Seen anyone coming past?" she muttered.

"Think so."

She nodded and beckoned, and he followed her down the corridor, trying and listening at every door they passed. The first two were locked and the third was a linen cupboard. The fourth was the drugs store. The door was slightly ajar. Very cautiously, Jason looked through the gap. A tall, thin, dark man was in the room, opening cabinets and cupboards with a skeleton key, rifling through them and stuffing his pockets. Jason nodded to Lisa and flung the door open.

"Police. You are under arrest on suspicion of theft - "

Ferrell spun around with an oath, grabbed a heavy metal box and hurled it at them. Instinctively, Jason stepped in the way to make sure that Lisa would not be hit. She was healing well, but another blow to her stomach could be disastrous. He braced himself, but he was winded by the impact to his midriff as he caught the box. Involuntarily he stepped backwards to absorb the weight, and Ferrell jumped forward, shoved him aside, and raced off down the corridor, tearing packets of pills from his pockets and throwing them down as he went. Lisa took off after him, and Jason dropped the box and followed.

As they careered down the corridor, hospital staff pulling a trolley, with a patient on it, came racing the other way. Jason jumped aside to let them pass. As the trolley drew level, he could see the face of the patient, his head swathed in bandages. It was his own face.

_God..._

He blinked, and the trolley, its occupant and the medics vanished.

_The radio said this morning that I'd just arrived at the hospital. I'm about to have my operation in 2010._

"Jason!"

Lisa had stopped and was leaning against the wall. He sprinted to her.

"You OK?"

"Will be. Can't run yet. Get after him."

He was about to object, but changed his mind and ran, but by this time Ferrell was well ahead.

_We're going to lose him,_ Jason thought desperately. _Or he'll have got rid of all the evidence by the time we catch him. _

The corridor was deserted apart from themselves. Doubtless the hospital staff were all at their Christmas parties. Suddenly a tall, balding, moustached man in a brown raincoat appeared from around a corner ahead of them.

"Stop, thief! Police!" Jason bellowed for the newcomer's benefit. The newcomer flattened himself against the wall as though to let the chase pass him by. At the last moment he stuck out a foot, too late for Ferrell to dodge. The fleeing thief described an exquisite arc through the air and landed on his chin with a sickening crack. Jason landed on him, knocking the breath out of him, and sat across his legs. Lisa arrived and sat across his midsection.

"As I was saying when you so rudely interrupted us," Jason panted, "you are under arrest on suspicion of theft. You do not have to say anything, but - "

"What the hell are you on about?" Lisa hissed as their helper approached.

"Well done, both of you! I can take this from here. I'm a police officer."

"So are we." Jason flashed his warrant card. "Would you please phone our station and ask them to send a squad car? Fenchurch East." He reeled off the number, and the man nodded and disappeared into an office. Jason, thankful that he had brought a pair of handcuffs to show to the childen, briskly cuffed their captive. Lisa felt Ferrell's jacket.

"Good Lord, Jason, look at this! It's a poacher's jacket. The lining must be full of pockets. He must be carrying half his body weight in drugs. But why would he take this stuff?"

"Prescription drugs," Jason said bleakly. "Some people are hooked on them and their doctors won't prescribe as much as they want. They'll pay well over the odds to get their fix."

"And he's been taking them from the patients here," Lisa said grimly. "Children. Well, it looks like Georgie won't be seeing his Dad for a while."

"What?" Jason started so violently that Ferrell tried to move, but Jason quickly went limp again. "This is _Georgie's_ father?"

"Well, I saw him with Georgie earlier," Lisa said carefully. She remembered the child's terrified injunction not to involve him.

Their helper emerged from the office. "The squad car's on the way. It should be here in a couple of minutes."

Jason looked up. "Thank you very much, Mr - "

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet. DCI Frank Morgan, Metropolitan Police. Discipline and Complaints."

**TBC**


	11. Have Yourself a Merry Galex Christmas 2

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes. Even though I'd asked Santa very nicely…**

**When I posted Chapter 10, I anticipated a gap of 3-4 weeks before the next chapter. Instead, due my well-publicised personal difficulties, it's been over seven months. I'm desperately sorry for the break in service – one reason why I've found it so difficult to restart this story is that this next chapter is very fluffy, and fluff has been the last thing I could take. But as this is a Christmas chapter, it seems as good a time as any to get this story relaunched. To remind you what's been going on, here's a brief story so far:**

**Post-series 3, Alex has returned to Fenchurch East with the blessing of "Authority upstairs" at the Railway Arms. She and Gene are now living together, and they are developing their new recruit, DI Jason Collins (iPhone man). Jason has his own link to the Geneverse: in the real world, his father, who died before he was born, was DC Ray Carling. Jason, like Sam and Alex before him, is determined to change the past: in his case, to stop his mother taking to drink and giving his six-year-old self up to his grandfather (Ray's father). In the meantime, he is getting on very well with Shaz's replacement, WPC Lisa Craven. **

**When the story broke off, Gene has whisked Alex away for Christmas in a Peak District cottage owned by hotelier Gerald Sharkey, an associate from Manchester days. Jason and Lisa are spending Christmas Day doing voluntary work at the local hospital when they catch a thief stealing drugs. They are assisted in their arrest by one DCI Frank Morgan of the Metropolitan Police, Discipline and Complaints…**

**Now we get back to Gene and Alex…**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter 10 long ago, and I'm sorry that I never replied to you individually. If you can forgive me for the gap, reviews would be a wonderful Christmas present!**

Curled up together in the deep, soft, massive bed, their naked bodies entwined, neither wanted to get up on Christmas morning. But at last Alex disentangled herself from Gene, leaving him grumbling sleepily at the loss of her, and threw the bedclothes back.

"Wassallthehurry?" he mumbled.

"Someone has to get up, or we don't get any Christmas dinner," she said with mock severity.

"Hm. Mightaveapointthere." He burrowed deeper into the bed and went back to sleep. Alex showered, dressed, brewed up some black coffee and left a cup on the bedside table, close to Gene's nose where it protruded from the blankets, and headed back to the kitchen to put the oven on. A few moments later, Gene was awakened by a cry coming from the living room. He leapt out of bed, flung on his robe, and raced out there. Alex was on her knees in front of the fireplace. Hearing him behind her, she looked up, her eyes full of tears.

"Gene - the stocking - you - ?"

"Er, yeah, I did that last night." He felt monumentally embarrassed. "I, uh, had much the same idea myself, knowing 'ow you keep Molly's clothes on the peg back 'ome, so I got Susie to buy some things. Saw you'd left the stocking out last night, so I bunged 'em in."

"Thank you," she choked. "Thank you so much. It means so much to me."

"Come 'ere, Bols." He hauled her to her feet, lifted her onto the sofa, and held her close while she cried. It was a short, intense burst, and after a few minutes she wiped her eyes and forced a smile.

"Let's see what you gave her. I'll have to open it for her."

He unhooked the stocking and brought it over to her, and she upended it, spilling the contents onto the sofa. She was teary-eyed again as she looked at the collection of pretty trifles Susie had bought. A plastic floral bracelet, handkerchiefs embroidered with flowers, cassettes of Spandau Ballet and Shakin' Stevens, hair ribbons, enamelled slides, a small Rubik Cube, paperbacks of pony stories, a 1984 diary, sweets and chocolate, woollen gloves, a little figurine of a ballet dancer. It brought home to her, how much more innocent childhood was in that day and age. Her vastly more sophisticated daughter would probably scorn most of these offerings as kids' stuff.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking up at Gene. "If - if she were here, I know she'd be so pleased that you thought of her."

He looked relieved. "Thank God for that. Didn't know what she'd 'ave wanted."

"Well, a lot of the time she's into singers who are children now or haven't been born yet, and technology which won't be invented for years," Alex admitted. "Children in 2008 are very different to what they are now. But if she were a 1980s child, she'd have loved these, I know." She sighed deeply, and looked away for a moment. "I'll get breakfast started and put the oven on. You have your coffee and get dressed."

He nodded, understanding that she needed to be alone for a few minutes. By the time he entered the kitchen, she was halfway through her breakfast, and looked back to normal. Her wounds were still too raw to be exposed to the air for long. She had had to bury her sorrow deep within her, so that she could continue with her life. She looked up and smiled as he came in, and he knew, once again, how deeply she needed him. He was her only reason for living in that world.

"You sit down. I've cooked your breakfast for you."

"Eh?" When he got up late, she usually expected him to get his own breakfast.

She gave him her most enigmatic smile. "Make the most of today, Gene. As a Christmas present, for one day only, I am going to fulfil your philosophy of the opposite sex."

His jaw dropped. "You mean - ?"

She parked a fry-up and more coffee in front of him. "Yes. Maid in the living room, cook in the kitchen - "

"Whore in the - "

"That bit comes later."

"Bloody 'ell!"

"Not that the cooking should be too stressful. The turkey crown's already been dressed and stuffed, and the cranberry sauce and bread sauce have already been made up. Once you've finished breakfast, you can watch the TV until lunch is ready. Then I can be your maid in the living room."

If she had been expecting objections and insistences that he would help, she would have been doomed to disappointment, but she knew her man's limitations well enough. This was Gene, and he was quite happy to slump on the sofa all morning, drinking beer and watching television, casting appreciative glances at the kitchen whenever she came into view. Somewhat to his disappointment, her "special clothes" did not include a saucy maid's outfit, but she wore a fetching white apron over her jumper and jeans while she was cooking, and shortly before dinner was ready she slipped away to change into a gauzy, full-length, long-sleeved gown made of black chiffon shimmering with thin threads of silver, tied at the waist with a silver sash. She looked like black ice, Gene thought in a rare poetic moment, before mentally castigating himself for being a wet, sentimental twonk.

Sharkey had left them silver tableware, a fine white linen tablecloth and napkins, and a silver candelabrum. Laying the table, she reflected that all this finery would be largely lost on Gene. He would be just as happy with a formica-topped table and stainless steel cutlery. But if he was prepared to put up with this splendour for her sake today, she would repay the compliment in the New Year by going with him to his favourite curry house, Raj's in the Old Kent Road, without once complaining about the food, the service, or the bent forks. Their love did not change the fact that they were very different people. Their relationship would still need a lot of give-and-take to make it work.

She was gratified to see how impressed Gene looked when she led him to the table, decked out in all its magnificence, with the candles burning brightly. The turkey crown was done to a turn, nestling in a ring of perfectly cooked roast potatoes, with bowls of sprouts and parsnips and sauceboats of cranberry sauce, bread sauce and gravy laid along the table. He reached for the carving knife, but Alex forestalled him.

"No, Sir. Don't you remember that I'm your maid today? I'll carve."

"Oh. Shouldn't you be eating in the servants' 'all, then?"

Her eyes widened innocently. "Oh, no, sir. On Christmas Day, the servants eat with the masters."

God, the inflection she'd put into that word. _Masters_. He shifted in his chair, watching as those delicate, skilful hands wielded the carvers, deftly cutting slices from the turkey with the precision of a surgeon using a scalpel. Those hands... bloody hell, at this rate he'd be lucky to last through dinner without jumping her.

"Looks like you've nicked one of your mistress's dresses to me."

Her eyes gleamed wickedly as she set his loaded plate in front of him. "Oh, no, Sir. _I'm_ the mistress. Remember what Jason said when he first saw us together?"

"_Right._" He slammed his fork down. "Shut up, you daft tart, or you won't get any Christmas dinner. I'll be draggin' you into the bedroom for the rest of the day."

Bugger the woman, how could she look so innocent and yet tempt him so much? "I'm so sorry, Sir. Hasn't my _service_ been to your liking?" She pronged a sliver of turkey between her lips and chewed it slowly. _Service. Bugger. _Those lips... those soft, red lips... _Control, Hunt. Control._

He managed a grin. "It will be later, Bolly. It will be."

As it turned out, it was the excellence of the meal that saved Alex from a fate worse than death. Once he had got stuck into his turkey, stuffing, chipolatas, bacon and roasties, and even condescended to add some "healthy" Brussels sprouts and parsnips, he enjoyed it so much that he demanded seconds and thirds, and Alex had difficulty in persuading him to save enough space for the pudding and brandy butter.

"Could get used to posh cuisine when it tastes as good as this, Bols."

"Good. Glad you liked it, _Sir_."

After a suitable interval for rest and recuperation, they moved over to the tree to exchange presents. Alex retrieved a large, box-shaped parcel and put in in his lap.

"This first for you, I think. Something to look at."

"I've already got something to look at," he rumbled, feasting his eyes on her slender figure.

"Something _else_."

He tore at the paper. "Oh, Bols." It was a boxed set of Clint Eastwood VHS tapes. "_For a Fistful of Dollars - For a Few Dollars More - The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - Hang 'em High - High Plains Drifter -_"

"Remembering your fancy dress outfit at the boat party." She nuzzled his shoulder. She had recently bought a VHS recorder, stating that as she was going to stay in this world, she would keep up to date with the technology. Unfortunately that meant that their existing Betamax video collections had to be replaced.

"Something to look at when I'm on the sofa with a cold beer an' a hot woman." He wasn't going to tell her that he already had all the VHS tapes in his now rarely-visited house. He would throw those away. These would be special because they were her gift. "Thanks, Bols."

"This next, because it won't be a surprise." She gave him a tall box with suspiciously familiar dimensions. Sure enough, when he put it to his ear and shook it, it gave forth a pleasant sloshing sound. He ripped off the paper to reveal a gift-boxed bottle of fifteen-year-old Tobermory.

"Something to drink." He gazed at it with adoring eyes. Alex sighed inwardly and hoped that her other presents would have the same impact. She wondered why it was that, whichever place or time she was in, men always preferred a simple bottle of booze to any other more thoughtful or more carefully chosen present.

"You can start it later, when you're looking at the videos." She gave him a small, flat parcel which resembled a gift wrapped envelope. "This should be harder to guess." It _was_ an envelope, filled with incomprehensible paperwork. Gene riffled through it and scowled.

"What's all this?"

She settled onto the sofa next to him. "This, dear boy, is the certificates for £50-worth of shares in Glenmorangie."

His eyes lit up. "Bloody 'ell..."

"I don't know if they'll ever be worth anything, but I thought it would be fun for you to know that you have a very, very small stake in one of your favourite distilleries."

"I'll say." He kissed her. "We'll take a holiday in Scotland this summer. We'll visit 'em an' demand a guided tour with free samples. I'll wave me certificates an' claim I'm a part owner, an' need to know 'ow the company works."

Her eyes glittered with love. "In your dreams, Hunt. Now, this." She placed a small, gift-wrapped box in his hand. "Something to wear."

He hoped that it was not a tie-pin. In his job, he needed ease of movement, and a pin might tear his tie. But although he correctly guessed that the parcel contained a jeweller's box, it held a heavy gold signet ring, engraved with a lion's head, and a stick of sealing wax. He was momentarily speechless.

"I hope it's the right size," Alex said nervously. "I couldn't measure your finger to check, but the jeweller said that he'll re-size it if necessary."

"Let's 'ave a go." He extracted it from its velvet nest and slipped it onto his left middle finger. It fitted perfectly. "Stop worrying, woman. It could 'ave been made for me." He radiated satisfaction.

Alex heaved a silent sigh of relief. When she had seen it in the jeweller's window, she knew that he had to have it, but she had been worried in case the gift of a ring, with all that it could be seen to imply, might make him back away. Fortunately he seemed too pleased with its appropriateness, to read anything sinister into it.

He pouted. "But what's the red stuff for?"

"Sealing wax, Gene. It's a signet ring. Heat a little of it with your lighter, drip it into a piece of paper or an envelope and stamp it with the ring, and you've sealed your own decrees."

He looked pleased. "Won't bother with that. I'll be too busy sealin' it on the chins of the scum of London. It'll be my new knuckleduster."

Alex sighed again, openly this time. Trust Gene to take an elegant gift and use it for violent purposes. But if it pleased him, that was the main thing. "Look inside the hoop."

He took the ring from the box and looked at the engraving inside. "_A Lion for the Lion._ Thanks, Bols. You've found the perfect present."

"I hoped you'd like it."

"Like it? I love it. Nearly as much as I lo - " He checked himself and glared. "Why 'aven't you 'ad any presents yet?"

_Typical Gene. Paralysed by the thought of the dreaded L-word. _"Because I'm your maid today, Sir." She lowered her eyes submissively. "The Master has to be served first."

"Give over." He stumped over to the tree and came back with a large, shapeless parcel, which he dropped into her lap. "Take this for starters."

It was a beautifully tailored white jacket. She looked up at him. "Oh, Gene, it's lovely!"

He looked awkward. "Try it on." He had checked the size labels in her wardrobe before buying it, but had no idea whether it would fit her. She stood, and he held it out for her to slip into it, a rare display of old-fashioned courtesy from him which touched her deeply. The jacket slid over her slender shoulders like water and she buttoned it up. It was a perfect fit. She sashayed over to a full-length mirror on the wall and pirouetted in front of it. He watched her. Was it she who seemed to make the fabric glow, or the fabric that made her glow?

"Just like your ring. It could have been made for me." She strolled back to him. "Are you sure you didn't measure me in my sleep?"

"'Course not, you daft tart! You don't sleep deeply enough for that!" Clearly he liked what he saw.

"Thank you, Gene. It's beautiful." She removed it, stroked the fabric, and looked at the label. "Good grief, this is cashmere! It must have cost you the earth."

"It looked the best for you in the shop. Glad you like it." He had agonised over whether to get it for her, had feared that she might resent any suggestion that he was trying to mould her image. But she had not objected when he bought her a black jacket when he aroused her from her coma. He had done that because he had feared, then, that another white jacket might awaken unwelcome memories of the shooting in St Joseph's. He decided to come clean. "Missed seeing you in white, Bols. We're a team, black an' white, like the whisky, with Collins trailing behind in Ray's jacket." He did not add that he was desperate for her to stop wearing her shapeless grey sack of a jacket any longer. She had been wearing it when he banished her to the Railway Arms, and now, every time he saw her in it, he felt a pang of terror lest she would vanish from his sight again.

She folded it tenderly in its tissue paper. "Tell me, Mr Hunt, is it a condition of your world that all the clothes fit? I've always wondered how it was, that those clothes from that poor girl who was killed outside Timothy White's fitted me like a second skin."

He smirked. "One of the advantages of bein' a Guardian. I got the office, the guns, the car, the team, an' all the clothes fit." _Except for that bloody grey sack. _He picked up a small, box-shaped package. "This next."

She opened it. It was a substantial bottle of her favourite perfume, gift boxed. She inhaled it appreciatively. "Woman stink. Tell me that doesn't moisten your gusset, _sir_."

He grinned. "Did 'til I saw the price. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Never realised before 'ow much it costs you birds to keep smelling of flowers. One thing, if you go off an' get locked in another cold store, I'll give the old bottle to one of the station dogs an' get 'im to sniff you out." He did not mention his excruciatingly embarrassing visit to the Selfridges perfume counter. The enthusiastic young female assistant had wanted to spray his wrist with a tester, and he had smoked half a packet of fags on the way back to the station to mask the smell. He blenched inwardly at the memory, picked up another, smaller box, and handed it to her.

She removed the paper to reveal a small jeweller's box, which contained a a gleaming brass brooch, beautifully worked and polished, in the shape of a curved arrow.

"It's beautiful, Gene." She looked at him questioningly.

He looked very solemn. "As you know, Bols, the Met gives out medals every now an' then. Bravery awards. I'm awarding this medal to you. Wear it on your jacket. In memory of the three who so nearly went down in the lift. They went up instead, thanks to you."

"Thank you," she whispered, deeply moved. "But it was you who saved them, not me."

"No, you." His eyes blazed into hers. "You know I was done when Keats took 'em away. It was you who stayed with me. You who pulled me back together. You who knew Chris had taken the radio. You who got their attention and made me talk to 'em. We were only just in time. You made them listen to me. It was you who saved them. I already told you, Keats knew you were going to help me, an' wanted to stop it. That was why he tried so 'ard to drive us apart. That, an' because 'e wanted you 'imself." She shuddered. "You'd 'ave been 'is biggest prize of all."

"Thank you." She could barely speak for emotion. "I'll be so proud to wear it. For you and for them."

"Good." He handed her another, slightly larger parcel. "Last one."

She unwrapped it. It was another jeweller's box. Inside it, nestling in folds of deep blue velvet, was a heavy gold chain, the exact twin of his own. She took it out and ran the rich links between her fingers, overcome with emotion as she understood all the unspoken implications of such a gift. From a man so notoriously reluctant to reveal his feelings, this was a major statement.

"Oh, Gene..."

"I thought, y'know, his an' hers," he mumbled awkwardly. His eyes fell on the multi-stranded gold necklace she was already wearing. "_Shit_." He reached out for the chain. "It's okay, I can take it back to the shop, get you something you'll want - "

"No, Gene. No." She pressed the chain to her heart. "All I want is this. The present you chose for me."

"But you've already got something better."

"_No_." She took the necklace off. "_This_ is only a piece of jewellery. Something I can wear or not, as I choose." She dropped it carelessly upon a cushion. "_This_ - " she held out the chain - "I value more than I can say. Because you gave it to me, and because I know what your giving it, and my receiving it, means to both of us." Their eyes met and locked. "From now on, I will always wear it. Thank you, Gene. Thank you so much."

He looked away, unable to reply. She undid the clasp, put the chain around her neck, and turned away from him. "Will you do it up for me?" Her voice was full of meaning, and he understood. To both of them, his fastening the clasp would be almost as significant as placing a ring upon her finger. A gesture that would bind them together, even closer than before. He fastened it, and she could feel how his hands were shaking. She reached up, took his hands, placed them upon her sash, and pulled them aside. The sash fell away and the dress slipped from her shoulders.

"Bloody 'ell, think all my Christmases 'ave come at once..."

She freed her hands, and the dress slipped down to pool at her feet. Beneath it, she wore a strapless red velvet micro-dress, trimmed with white fake fur around the bust and hem, which totally failed to conceal the suspenders holding up her black fishnets. He growled appreciatively, and she reached behind her to caress his hair and draw his arm around her.

"Shouldn't you be assisting Santa today, Mrs Claus?" He nuzzled the back of her neck, making her shiver with delight. His stubble scraped her skin, and her knees buckled.

She turned her head to look at him and smiled. "I didn't say you'd had all your presents yet."

"More of your special clothes?"

She leaned back against him, stroking his face, feeling his jumping pulse. "Time for Stage Three. Whore in the bedroom."

He fumbled for the zip. "Beats me why you bother, when you know I'll 'ave 'em off you in ten seconds flat."

"Christmas presents have to be unwrapped, Gene..."

-oO0Oo-

He awakened the next morning, holding her in his arms as she slept, feeling her smooth skin against his. The bright sunlight streaming through the curtains caught the chain, glittering on her slender neck.

He had not yet got used to the simple fact of waking up every morning to find her there. He kept fearing that he would awaken alone, in his empty house, to find that it was all a dream. Or that he would awaken and find a note on the pillow saying that she had decided to go to the Railway Arms.

All these years, he had kidded himself that he did not need anyone. That he had to be alone. His job was to send souls onward, therefore he should not become close to his charges. Despite the closeness of his partnerships with Sam and then with Alex, he had always, in essence, been solitary. That was why his marriage had failed. He had never been able to give the poor cow enough. He supposed now, that his ex-wife in this world must be a construct of Vera Dixon, his childhood sweetheart in the real world. Just as Shaz had provided herself with constructs of her whole family.

But he would never forget the sense of dread and emptiness that had engulfed him when he had seen Alex go into the pub and the door shut behind her. The thud of the closing door had been like a knell of doom.

Walking back to the station in the darkness, he had told himself that of course he had done the right thing. Sending people to the pub was his job. But he had never felt so lonely.

_Tell, me, do you ever get lonely, Gene?_

Memories had lunged out of the darkness to torment him and sprung back out of reach before he could seize them and exorcise them. During those dark hours he had known that he would have to forget everything again, or go mad. But when Alex had returned from the Railway Arms, she had brought with her Authority's report, decreeing that personal involvement was a challenge which he should not have rejected, but embraced wholeheartedly. So, at last, he had let her in. At first, long force of habit, and an innate dread of losing his power, had made him terminally wary of emotional dependence upon another person. But now the very thought of ever having to go on without her, terrified him.

He looked down at her. He was certainly embracing her wholeheartedly now, he thought, his lips curving in a lascivious grin. Her face was rosy with sleep, and she looked utterly relaxed. He remembered the poor, thin streak of misery she had been when she had first returned from the Railway Arms, and knew without question that he had done the right thing in bringing her here. He didn't have to be some bloody doctor or psychologist to know that she had urgently needed to be taken away from her usual beat and have a complete rest. He could admit to himself that he would have preferred it not to be another isolated farmhouse, but beggars could not be choosers, and this had been Sharkey's only free let. Come to think of it, though, he hadn't had any nightmares since he'd been here. Maybe the change was doing him good as well, unless all the sex was making him sleep too heavily to dream.

He was glad that she had received the chain in the spirit in which he had offered it. After everything that had been between them in the past, he had not known whether she would feel able to accept a gift which implied a commitment. But she had seemed to like it. There were so many things that he feared he would never be able to say to her, but maybe she understood without him having to say them.

She stirred, stretched luxuriously, and opened her eyes. He raised himself onto one elbow, looking down at her.

"Happy Boxing Day, Bolly Knickers."

"Happy Boxing Day, Gene." She reached up, caressed his cheek, and drew him down for a kiss. His chain brushed against her neck, and she giggled. "We'll have to be careful, or we'll end up tangled like rutting stags."

He pulled her closer. "Now, the rutting bit I could do with…"

-oO0Oo-

After a late breakfast, they went out for a walk, as Alex insisted that they couldn't stay amid some of the Peak District's finest scenery without taking a look at it. Gene would have been happier staying indoors and watching his new videos, but this holiday was for her, so he stumped behind her, his hands in his pockets, as she strode along. The wind whipped a flush into her cheeks, played with her scarf and her hair, and at one point nearly snatched her woolly hat off. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she pointed out each new, magnificent view and took photo after photo, glad that she had thought to bring her camera with her. Gene, city-born and bred, took little pleasure in all this wild scenery. He was a urban Lion, who preferred the pavement beneath his boots and a police station as his den to the springy turf and the caves in the crags looming above them. But although the walk to the triangulation point nearly winded him, he could not but be impressed by the sight of the town below them, encircled by the surrounding peaks.

"I lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help," Alex quoted. "Oh, Gene, it makes one realise how huge this world is, and how small we are."

"Yeah." He was leaning against the triangulation pillar to get his breath back. He had not missed the fact that she had said _this world_. Not the real world, which neither of them would ever see again. "But the little things are what's important." He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Planning on goin' any further?"

She leaned back against him, laughing. "No. I'm not expecting us to climb the Edge. It wouldn't be safe, anyway, unless we'd told someone where we were going. That's why I checked the weather forecast on the radio before we started, and kept us to a defined path. Let's go back. It'll be easier, going downhill."

"Good."

The walk had given them both an appetite, and she used some of the remaining turkey to make a delicious fricassee for lunch, after which they feasted on mince pies and clementines. After lunch, he switched the television on and watched his video of _For a Fistful of Dollars._ She joined him on the sofa, tucked her feet neatly beneath her, and rested her head on his shoulder. When the film ended and he turned the television and video player off, she stirred.

"Thought you'd fallen asleep. Waste of a good film."

She smiled. "No. Just resting."

"That's what all birds say when blokes are watching Westerns."

"I like Westerns too," she protested. There was a companionable silence. "Thank you."

He turned his head to look at her. "What for?"

"This. All of this. It's been wonderful. Thank you so much, Gene. It's been a glorious Christmas."

"Glad you've enjoyed it." As ever, he found it hard to respond to gratitude.

She raised her head and looked him in the eye. "Why?"

"Why what?" he hedged.

"Why did you bring me here?"

He looked embarrassed. "I 'eard Twonkhead Collins rabbiting on about _me-time_. Struck me you could do with some you-time. It's been a bugger of a year for you. You started it out cold as a fish finger, then I smacked you to bring you round, then there was Keats, all that - stuff - last month, the others going, you comin' back, Collins an' Lisa joining us, the bomb a week ago - I decided you needed this."

She snuggled against him. "I didn't know it, but you were right. Maybe I'll make a psychologist of you yet." He grunted something deliberately unintelligible. "Thank you. It's been lovely, just the two of us here in this gorgeous place. A chance to recharge our batteries."

"That was the idea."

"I'm only sorry that we have to go back so soon, but I know all good things must come to an end, and it'll be something for us to remember when we're dealing with crap again. It's so good of you. I - I know it must have been hard for you, coming to a place like this."

"_Shit_." Bugger the woman. He might have known that he couldn't keep anything from her. "Let's just say I was glad when we got 'ere an' found there wasn't a scarecrow outside."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. You've done so well to confront these things, not run away from them."

He sighed deeply. "I know it was running away got me into the shit before. Forgot everything, an' that left me wide open when Keats tried it on." He looked at her. "You realise I'd 'ave forgotten everything again by now, if you hadn't come back?"

"I know. It's good that Jason's settling down so well, but I'm worried about him."

"Why?"

"He's accepting this world so readily. Sam and I always fought it, but Jason doesn't seem to be fighting at all. What if he dies, simply because he doesn't try to get back?"

Gene hesitated before answering. "Hate to say this, Bols, but you know that fighting doesn't necessarily mean he'd get back." She nodded, tears springing to her eyes, and looked away. "If 'e's here, then here's the best place for 'im. Contrary to what Keats says, I don't keep anyone 'ere who shouldn't be."

"I know." There was a short silence while she mastered her emotions. "When do you think we'll get replacements for the others?"

"Dunno. I'd 'ave expected 'em to come along before this, but you never can tell. I know the boys are wondering if I'll promote one of 'em to DS."

"And will you?"

"Been considering it," he admitted. "None of 'em would 'ave thought about it while Ray was 'ere. Terry's the best of 'em, but 'e's a liability with a gun these days. Poirot's good too, but he's a plodder. Don't know 'ow he'd react to the responsibility. Slate an' Bammo are too rash, Cotsey 'asn't enough experience yet, an' Davies is a div. But then, so was Chris," he added affectionately, "an' he turned out all right. Might 'ave problems if we get a new DS an' the boys resent someone coming in over their 'eads. But I might be needing two DSs soon."

"Might you? Why?"

"There's changes in the air. Nobody below DCI's meant to know yet, but I know you won't spill. I reported to the Super on the Stafford case an' 'ow Wilson left Louise to 'ang out to dry. They've 'ad a D an' C bloke over at Hanfield for the past month - a _real _ D an' C officer, not one of Keats's friends - an' he's just made 'is report. The Met'll sweep it under the carpet, of course. Wouldn't look good if it got out that a DCI took backhanders from a noted criminal family an' abandoned an undercover officer. Wilson's facing a tribunal, but 'e'll probably escape with being pensioned off on medical grounds. Looks like Hanfield's going to be closed down as part of a post-Countryman rationalisation. Chances are we'll get part of their patch."

"Will we get any of the officers?"

"No, their CID'll be split up an' transferred out to other stations, just like the old Fenchurch West team were after Operation Rose. But a bigger patch'll mean a bigger caseload. I'll leave my decision on who to promote to DS 'til the closure of Hanfield's announced."

"Will we get more staff, apart from the "new arrivals"?" She waggled her fingers.

"Nah, this is all in the name of cost-cutting. The lazy buggers we've got'll just 'ave to work harder. Hanfield will be sold off. You saw when you were there, it's a luxury pad. Fetch the Met a fortune on the property market."

"If we get more new arrivals, will it mean that we'll have to move from Fenchurch?"

"No, the office was enlarged when those builders were in, when Shaz went arse over tit about the screwdriver. Should be enough space if we get more staff."

"Good." She slid down to rest her head in his lap. "I'd hate to leave there. It's been like home for so long."

He looked down at her. "Keats was right about one thing. The place defines me. Us." He looked awkward again. "There's one other reason I brought you 'ere. Having another DI means we're working together less. Didn't want you to think you don't matter 'ere, just because you don't work on every case with me now. Wanted to show you - "

"What?"

He looked more awkward than ever, and she loved him all the more for it. "That you do. Matter."

She reached up to stroke his face. "Thank you, Gene. Thank you for telling me and showing me. It means so much. I've kept thinking how selfish I've been."

He started so violently that she nearly rolled off his lap. "_You?_ How did you work that one out?"

She levered herself into an upright position, and he pulled her close. "You were all set with your new DI, and then I came back. I'm a distraction to you. I know Jason has to be your priority now."

"_Shut up._ Don't you dare ever say anything like that again, or I'll 'ang you out of the window by your knicker elastic. Authority says you're meant to be 'ere, an' - an I want - I say so, too." She smiled into his chest. He might never be able to admit his feelings openly, but she understood. He cradled her against him, silently berating himself for a soppy, sentimental poof and savouring every moment. "An' now, no more shop. That's an order. You're meant to be relaxing. That's why you're 'ere."

"But I _am_ relaxed." She flopped against him. "I couldn't be much more relaxed than this."

It was true. They had been in the cottage for less than three days, but already the rough and tumble of life and work in London seemed an unbelievably long way away. The change had done much to set her troubled mind at rest. She found that she was accepting this world, and her place in it, as never before, and her grief for what she had lost was beginning to fade.

A smile spread across his face. "Any ideas for 'ow to get you more relaxed?"

"Well…"

He slithered down into the sofa cushions, pulling her with him. "Like test driving the sofa springs?" He kissed her, and she squirmed appreciatively beneath him as he pulled off her slippers and jumper and started to wrestle with her jeans.

"Gene, we have a four-poster bed upstairs, and Sharkey won't thank us if we ruin his sofa."

He sat up. "That's the trouble with birds, they spoil all the fun."

"If you have a fixation about sex on sofas, you can indulge it when we get home tomorrow."

He stood, picking her up in his arms, and strode towards the bedroom. "Four-poster, 'ere we come."

He laid her on the bed with unusual gentleness, helped her off with the rest of her clothes, and ripped off his own in double quick time. As he joined her under the bedclothes, she giggled.

"An' what's so funny about getting the Gene Genie into the sack?"

"I've just remembered, I'd got another costume for this evening."

"Save it for our birthdays. We don't need special clothes."

"No. We don't..."

-oO0Oo-

They made love and dozed in the huge, glorious bed throughout the afternoon and evening, until deep sleep claimed them as night fell. Around 3am, Gene woke up, his hair standing on end. He had heard nothing, but he knew that someone, or some_thing_, was in the house. All his senses were on edge. His first impulse was to awaken Alex, but he stopped himself. His gut instinct told him that whatever was out there, it was for him to face, not her. Carefully disentangling himself from the sleeping woman, he slipped out of bed, pulled on his robe, unhooked a decorative cast iron chestnut roasting pan which hung on the wall, and stole out of the bedroom.

He paused on the landing. All was quiet. He crept down the stairs, his improvised weapon held high, and moved into the living room. His first thought was that Nelson was sending him another message from the Railway Arms, but the television was dark...

...except for the reflection in the screen.

He whirled around, and only just managed not to cry out. He lowered his weapon. No threat here.

"You?"

"Yes." PC 6620 stood facing him, smiling slightly. His young face was no longer blemished by the hideous mutilation which had terrified Alex. Gene had the impression that it was the first time that the poor ghost had spoken in many, many years, and that speech came hard to him.

"So. Why are you 'ere?" Gene was beginning to understand how Alex had felt when the ghost had haunted her. This whole encounter was so surreal that he wondered if he was dreaming.

"To thank you."

"What for?"

"I've been found. Healed."

"Yeah, so you were. That is, so I was. Am. Er - " Gene swallowed hard. "You, um, you did well, y'know. Back in '53. Only a week on the beat, an' you 'ad the courage to go into that farmhouse and - " He looked away.

The boy nodded and smiled, a little wider this time. "Thank you. For being the copper I always wanted to be."

"Yeah." Gene did not know what else to say. He needed a drink.

"Gene?" Alex's voice called from upstairs. Man and ghost both glanced in the direction of the stairs for a moment, and when Gene looked back, his other self had gone. His legs gave way and he sank onto the sofa.

"Gene?" Alex appeared in the doorway, the bedspread wrapped around her naked form. "Why are you sitting here in the dark? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He concealed the chestnut roaster and forced himself to stand. "Came down 'ere for a smoke, but I can't find my fags. Never mind." It was on his conscience, that he was not telling her about the ghost. They had promised to tell one another everything, but this was something that he could not face yet. _Not now. Maybe later._

Alex frowned. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"To myself. First sign of insanity. You should know all about that, Bols, you passed that point long ago. Come back to bed, you'll get cold."

He wrapped a long arm around her and guided her towards the stairs. The scent of her skin and the warmth of her supple body against his made him feel more alive than ever before.

_But if I hadn't died in '53_, _I would never have found her, _he reflected as he drew her into his arms beneath the soft bedclothes. _When she was young and beautiful in 2008, I'd have been an old man._

_I had to die, to feel so alive._

**TBC**

**A/N: The gift of the arrow brooch was inspired by a piece in my collection, which had been bought by the Ashes to Ashes costume department as an alternative to the G-shaped silver brooch which Alex wore on her lapel in Series 3, but was never used. I can't help thinking that if it had been used, the arrow curving down and then up would have been loaded with symbolism. **


	12. Old Acquaintance

**A/N: A thousand pardons for the incredibly long delay since posting Chapter 11. I have been having various personal problems which meant that I did not feel able to commit to posting further episodes in a long-running story. But I have continued writing, so I hope that some people may feel able to resume, or start, reading this fic now - and I will try to keep posting whenever I can. And if anyone feels like reviewing, I would appreciate it so much, please!**

**For those who don't want to re-read the first eleven chapters, there is a story-so-far résumé at the beginning of Chapter 11. Chapter 11 was pure Christmas fluff which advanced the plot very little, apart from a small kink at the very end. **

**Quick reminder: New members of the team I've added to the story thus far are DI Jason Collins, aka the New Arrival; his girlfriend WPC Lisa Craven, Shaz's replacement; and desk sergeant Paul Seaton, Viv's replacement. New officers are awaited to replace Ray and Chris.**

**Chapter 11 saw Gene and Alex having a blissful Christmas at a cottage in the Peak District. Chapter 12, which follows on from Chapter 10, rejoins Jason and Lisa as they apprehend a drug-stealing suspect in a hospital corridor - assisted by one DCI Frank Morgan of Discipline and Complaints...**

"Pleased to meet you, Sir," Jason said as politely as he could, while holding the struggling Ferrell's ankles in an iron grip.

"And I to meet you," Morgan said courteously. "I apologise for not realising earlier that you were fellow officers. I didn't know that the Force were employing such pretty young things nowadays. I hope you're working undercover in that outfit, my dear?"

"We _were_ off duty, _Sir_," Lisa replied primly. "Voluntary work in the childrens' ward." Jason was sitting back to back with her on top of Ferrell, but he could almost feel her bristling with indignation.

"Ah, I see. Good show. Wait there, I'll go down to the entrance hall and bring your officers here when the car arrives." He vanished down the corridor.

"Well," Jason observed once they were alone with their captive, "I never thought of spending Christmas Day off duty _and_ getting a collar. I'll have a word with the Guv when he's back, and make sure you get overtime."

"Double-bubble. Thanks. Just so long as you get paid, too. Keep still," she added to Ferrell, who was still fidgeting beneath them. "You're cuffed, and for all we know you might be ticklish."

"One of my favourite fantasies, gorgeous," Ferrell panted, and winced as she discreetly twisted his foot.

Fortunately for all of them, it wasn't very long before Morgan returned with uniform, who relieved Jason and Lisa of their charge, and Cotsey, with a forensic team.

"The offence was in the drugs store room," Jason informed him briskly. "Cordon it off and get all surfaces fingerprinted. Get the door and the lock printed as well. He was using a skeleton key. It'll still be in the room. Get that, bag it and print it. All the packets of drugs that were dropped along the corridor are evidence too, so get them bagged and tested for prints too. The forensics report and our statements will give us enough to charge the bastard. Once shops are open after the holiday, you can trace where the key was cut."

"Right away, Boss!"

Jason shook Morgan's hand.

"Goodbye, sir, and thanks for your help. Would you mind coming in soon to give us a witness statement? I'm afraid we'll have to go now, to get Ferrell back to the station."

"Surely uniform can do that for you?" Morgan suggested. "The young lady said that you were working with the children, and you mustn't disappoint them, today of all days."

"True." Jason turned to Cotsey. "Tell plod to bang him up. We'll be back to interview him later."

Jason and Lisa returned to the childrens' ward, with Morgan following them. Jason was conscious that they both looked somewhat dishevelled and hoped that none of the adults would jump to the wrong conclusion. It was lucky that Morgan would be able to confirm what they had been doing.

The children surrounded them. "Where have you been?" one demanded. "You missed Santa going an' the carol singers!"

Jason grinned. "Well, kids, you won't believe this, but we've just been arresting a real, live criminal." At the back of the throng, he saw Georgie react.

"Where is he?" a little girl asked.

"We've got some policemen to take him to the police station," Lisa informed her.

"What has he been doing?" another child asked.

"He'd been stealing your medicines," Jason said grimly.

"But our medicines are _horrible_," a small boy objected. "Why should he want to steal them?"

Lisa laughed. "They may be horrible, but they're going to make you well again. He was going to take them and sell them, and without them you might not get better. But we've stopped him now."

The ward sister bore down on them. "Mr Collins, Miss Craven, may I have a word?"

The children either took the hint and drifted away or were removed by nurses and relatives. The ward sister led the way out into the corridor. "Now, what is all this about?"

"I'm sorry we couldn't tell you before the children nabbed us," Lisa said apologetically. "Georgie Ferrell tipped me off that his father had come here to steal. It might have been a child's fantasy, but I decided to check it out. We caught Ferrell Senior raiding the drugs store. DCI Morgan here helped us to arrest him, and he's been taken to the station for questioning."

"I see. Thank you." The ward sister looked very relieved. "We've had drugs go missing before."

"We'll question him about that," Jason promised. "You said that Georgie had no visitors, so Ferrell hasn't been here before, but he may be part of a larger network. Did you know," he added wrathfully, "that that bastard's a wife-beater? Georgie told me."

"Yes, we knew. Georgie's mother is in a refuge for battered wives. That's why she hasn't been able to come and see him. Maybe she can, now."

"Do you have a contact address or phone number? If we can interview her, we should be able to charge Ferrell with that as well."

"Yes, we have, so long as you keep it strictly confidential. I must say, it's surprising to find the police taking domestic violence seriously," the ward sister said disdainfully, and Jason realised that Lisa and Morgan were both looking at him with some surprise.

_1983. This was a time when the police used to leave "domestics" to sort themselves out._

"Well, _I_ do."

"Good. Thank you." She thawed into a beautiful smile. "I wish that there were more police officers like you, Mr Collins."

He smiled back. "There will be. Anyway, what else can we do for the children?"

The ward sister checked her fob watch. "It's just gone 2.30, and visitors will be leaving at 4.00. If you could both continue until then, we'd be very grateful."

"With pleasure," Lisa said warmly. "But I'd like a chance to sit down, please."

As it happened, they both got that chance. As soon as they returned to the ward, the children demanded details, and Jason and Lisa sat down together, surrounded by their excited audience, to give a blow-by-blow account of the chase and arrest - almost, he thought, as though this were an episode of _Jackanory_. He noticed Morgan, hovering in the background, watching the scene with great enjoyment. It was only after they had finished their tale and the childrens' attention had been diverted to a Punch and Judy show, that Georgie crept up to him, wreathed in smiles.

"It was my Dad, wasn't it?" Jason and Lisa had been careful to keep the thief's name out of their story.

"Georgie - "

"I know it was."

Jason gave in. "Yes, Georgie, it was. And we wouldn't have caught him if you hadn't warned us."

"Thank you!" Georgie's eyes shone. "You arrested 'im, just like I asked you. Now maybe my Mum can come an' see me."

"Yes. Maybe she can." _Another child who'll get their mother back._ He pushed the thought away. "So, do you believe that I'm a real policeman now?"

"Yes!" Georgie gazed up at him in wonder. "I want to become a policeman when I grow up, an' catch bad people. Just like you. D'you think I can do that?"

Looking down into the little boy's glowing face, Jason had a sudden, lurching memory, twenty-four years in the future.

_2007. A Met reception. Superintendent Heyman calling him._

_"Jason, here's someone you must meet. DCI George Ferrell, Southwark CID. He transferred on promotion from Manchester two months ago. Quite the dynamic detective. Clear-up rates have gone up like a rocket since he started here."_

_A pale, earnest face, a shock of bright red hair which refused to stay tidily combed, dark intense eyes, a strong handshake._

_"Pleased to meet you. I'm DCI Jason Collins, Fenchurch East. Public Relations."_

_The other man smiled. "Now, there's a coincidence. It was a detective called Jason Collins who first gave me the ambition to become a police officer. I was in hospital at Christmas when I was eight, and he was visiting. He arrested someone I hated very much. I knew then, what I had to do with my life."_

_Jason felt shy beneath Ferrell's scrutiny. "Well, I hope I can live up to my namesake."_

The memory cleared as quickly as it had arrived, and Jason found himself looking down at an adoring eight-year-old again.

"Yes, Georgie," he said gently. "I do believe you can."

-oO0Oo-

After they had left the children, Morgan insisted upon taking them to the canteen for coffee before they went on to the station.

"Least I can do for you. You've both done enough fire-eating for the time being, what with arresting that blackguard and spending all that time amusing sick children. Congratulations to you both."

"We're the ones who should be thanking you," Jason said warmly. "We wouldn't have caught Ferrell if you hadn't tripped him. What a coincidence, three police officers in the same part of the hospital, all at the same time."

"Yes, wasn't it," Morgan agreed blandly. "I was visiting. Not in a public capacity, like you two. I've only recently transferred to the Met."

"Discipline and Complaints, you said, sir?" Jason said politely.

"That's right. I came down from GMP - Greater Manchester Police. I'd been stationed in Hyde for years. I've had to take over from a colleague here who's been demoted. Nasty affair. It means that I'm having to build up a new team from scratch." He looked from one to the other. "I can always use new blood. If ever you want a job with me in D&C, just let me know. A couple of talented young officers like you two could go far in my line of business."

Jason stiffened. He had no intention of accepting DCI Morgan's well-meant offer, but what if Lisa were to be tempted? Would he find that his loyalty to her was greater than his loyalty to the Guv? Which of them would he be able to bear to disappoint? He risked a sidelong glance at her and was relieved to see that she looked as politely unenthusiastic as he felt. He cleared his throat.

"Thank you very much, Sir. That's very kind of you. But at present, I'm happy where I am and doing what I do."

"So am I, Sir," Lisa put in. "Besides, we've both only just transferred to our current station, and it wouldn't be very good if we were to transfer again so soon. But thanks very much for the offer." Jason breathed again.

"Of course." Morgan smiled. "No hard feelings. But if you do ever want to reconsider, do let me know." He wrote a telephone number on a napkin and handed it to Jason, who pocketed it without looking at it. "The day may come when you feel the need to escape from your current station."

Jason frowned. "Sir?"

"You're at Fenchurch East. DCI Hunt's in charge there, isn't he?"

"That's right," Jason said proudly.

"I must say I'm surprised to learn that he's still in the Force." Morgan's voice was heavy with censure.

"Sir?" Lisa's voice was wary.

"A headstrong man," Morgan said gravely. "A violent and dangerous man. A dinosaur like him has no place in a modern, progressive police force."

Jason scarcely knew what to say without offending their host, but Lisa was plainly waiting for him to take the lead. "I'm sorry that you think that way about him, Sir," he said stiffly. "But we love and admire our Guv, and we would do anything for him. I understand that in your line of business, as you call it, you have to make judgements about your colleagues. That's your job. But - "

"Of course," Morgan said heartily. "Your loyalty is commendable. He and I have had passages of arms before, when we were both stationed in Manchester. We could never see eye to eye, and we could never agree to differ. He probably still holds it against me that I was called in to run his station when he was under arrest on suspicion of murder."

"_Murder?_" they echoed together.

"All disproved, of course. He came out of the affair as pure as new-driven snow. But he resented me then, and, knowing the man, he'll still resent me now." He looked at his watch. "Four-thirty. Are you planning to interview your captive tonight?"

"We'd better." Jason drank the last of his coffee. "Thanks very much for the coffee, sir. We'll be on our way."

"Can I offer you a lift?"

"No, thank you, my car's downstairs. If you'd care to come in some time soon to make your statement - "

"I'll come now, if I may. I presume that DCI Hunt won't be in the office today?"

"No, he's on leave until the twenty-eighth. We're reporting to DCI Redgwick at Fenchurch West in his absence."

"Good. Much easier if I visit now, while he's away. He'll have his reasons for not wanting to see me again."

-oO0Oo-

"Well, and what did you think of him?" Lisa was the first to break the turgid silence in the car. Somehow Morgan's presence had deflated their sense of elation at getting their collar, and both felt uneasy.

Jason felt the need to be diplomatic. "Not a bad old boy, I suppose. As set in his ways as the Guv is in his, though he obviously doesn't realise it. And it was nice of him to offer us a job. He wasn't to know that we've only just started at Fenchurch East."

"He gives me the creeps," Lisa said bluntly. "Bad-mouthing the Guv behind his back so that he can poach his officers. And what was all that about with _He'll still resent me_ and _he'll have his reasons for not wanting to see me again_? All those insinuations. And - I don't know why, but there's something about him I just don't _like_. Creepy." She glanced anxiously into the driving mirror, where they could see Morgan's car following the Cavalier, as though, even with two lots of metal and glass separating them from him, he might hear what she was saying. "I take it you weren't considering taking him up on his job offer, then?"

"God, no. I'm doing what I've always wanted to do, getting out there and collaring criminals. Can you imagine spending day after day, week after week, doing nothing but finding fault with your colleagues? No wonder he's like that. It would be enough to warp anyone. And I take it you're not interested, either?"

"No. For the same reasons as yours."

-oO0Oo-

There was some surprise among the small team on duty at Fenchurch East for Christmas Day, when Jason and Lisa turned up on a day when they were meant to be on leave. There was also a good deal of covert speculation as to why Lisa had to keep her raincoat on, buttoned up to the neck, inside the centrally heated office.

"Bet you he was slippin' 'er one, an' she's in nothing more than lacy French knickers under that coat," Bammo muttered to Slate after Jason had turned Morgan over to Terry to give his statement, and was on the phone to inform DCI Redgwick of the arrest.

"Nah, they nailed 'im in a hospital. Bet it's a naughty nurse's outfit," Slate muttered back, eyeing Lisa's raincoat-clad form lovingly as she sat typing out her statement.

"With those boots, look you?" Davies interjected. "Black leather corset. Got to be."

Cotsey grinned knowingly. "That's all you know. I saw 'er in all 'er glory. Red frock with white fur. Good enough to eat. Want 'er in _my _stocking."

"Yeah, but how much of _her_ did you see?" Davies demanded.

He wasn't quite quiet enough, and Lisa quelled the three of them with a look.

"Any more out of you lot, and there'll be sand in your tea for a fortnight." She was rewarded by a hail of whistles and catcalls, just as Jason came off the phone.

"What's going on?"

All four instantly looked guiltily innocent. "Nothing, Boss, nothing," Bammo said hastily, pushing his copy of "Men Only" under a file.

"Don't think I couldn't hear you," Jason said coldly. "Right, DCI Redgwick's told me to interview this bastard, and the charges are going to stick like superglue."

-oO0Oo-

"Where's Mother Christmas, then?" Ferrell leered as Jason came into the room.

"Giving her statement," Jason snarled, sitting in one chair and motioning Ferrell to the other. He pressed the Record switch on the tape recorder. "Interview of Robert Anthony Ferrell commenced at four-fifty p.m. Present are Mr Ferrell and DI Collins - "

"Want Mother Christmas!" Ferrell whined.

"Naughty children don't get Christmas presents," Jason said grimly. "And you've been a very naughty boy, haven't you, Robert?"

"Want Mother Christmas and I wanna lawyer!"

"Just for now, you'll talk to me."

"Won't!"

"You came to the childrens' ward of St Luke's Hospital at 3.15 today to visit your son Georgie."

"Seeing me kid ain't a crime!"

"After you left the ward, you went to the drug store and unlocked the door with a skeleton key. When WPC Craven and I found you, you were rifling the cabinets and pocketing drugs."

"No comment!"

Jason produced a bag containing the packets of drugs which Ferrell had thrown down in his flight, and which Forensics had retrieved.

"You threw a metal box at us and ran for it. We gave chase and saw you throwing these packets down as you ran."

"It's a stitch-up!"

"We have a witness who can testify to that." He had to hope that Morgan would mention it in his statement, but he could expect a fellow police officer to be thorough. "When WPC Craven and I caught you, your coat pockets were still full of packets of drugs."

"They were planted!"

"We have your coat. It's being retained as evidence. Complete with the medicines which you were stealing from the sick, the needy and the vulnerable. From children like your own little boy."

"Fix! Fix! Fix!"

"The ward sister has told us that drugs have gone missing before. Were you working alone? Or are you part of a gang that's been stealing on a systematic basis?"

"I'm saying nothing without a lawyer! I know how this goes!"

Jason jumped from his chair, overturning it, and grabbed Ferrell by his lapels, hauling him to his feet and shoving him against the wall. "How it _goes_, you human vermin, is that you've been nicked. How d'you think it'll look when it goes to court? The evidence of three police officers against a violent, snivelling _worm_ like you?"

"I've been set up!" Ferrell gasped. "Won't say anything without a lawyer!"

Jason loosened his death-grip and dumped Ferrell back in the chair. "Do you really think that a lawyer will bother to turn out today, ruining his Christmas for the likes of you? You're on your own, sunshine."

Ferrell looked cunning. "You can only keep me for one day. I'm saying nothing for the next twenty-four hours. You keep me any longer an' I'll sue for wrongful arrest. I'm unemployed, I can get Legal Aid."

"You'll be wanting _First _Aid in a minute," Jason snarled.

"I'll sue for police brutality too!"

One of Jason's favourite books, not to be published until 1996, came to his aid. "No, this is police shouting. If you want to see some real police brutality, come back tomorrow when my Guv returns from leave."

Ferrell paled. "Hunt?"

Jason knew that he was on sticky ground now. The Guv wouldn't be back for two days. But even in his absence, his status as a living legend might help to nail this bastard. "Yes," he said airily. "DCI Gene Hunt's the Guv here. Heard of him?"

Plainly Ferrell had. For a moment, Jason thought that he was going to crack. Then he folded his arms and scowled.

"Lawyer."

"Right," Jason said equably. "But isn't there something you've forgotten?"

"No."

"Oh, yes, you have. You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

Ferrell turned pale.

"It's understandable. With Christmas parties in full swing all over the building, you didn't think you'd be disturbed. If WPC Craven and I hadn't left the ward for a breather while Santa was holding court, you wouldn't have been. You'd have taken what you wanted, tidied up, locked up, and been long gone before anyone entered the room. They might not have discovered until tomorrow that anything was missing. A colleague of mine has got the forensics team to check all surfaces at the scene for prints. I'll bet my Christmas double-time that the only prints not belonging to members of the hospital staff, will be yours."

Ferrell had gone as white as a packet of cocaine, but he held his ground. "Lawyer. I'll make a complaint. Unlawful intimidation and harrassment. Only went there to see my little boy, and now I'm being treated like a criminal."

"That's because you _are_ a criminal, you waste of space!" Jason lunged for him, and only just managed to check himself before he could land a blow. Ferrell sat still, looking very smug at having kept his temper while making Jason lose his. Jason took a deep breath. "So you insist on your _rights_, do you? You insist upon wasting taxpayers' money on a trial, even though you know you're going down?"

Ferrell shrugged. "Lawyer."

Jason took a deep breath. "Right, Robert, if that's how you want to play it, that's how you'll get it. You'll be our guest for tonight, and tomorrow you'll get a lawyer _and_ the forensic report. Interview concluded five-five p.m." He switched the tape recorder off, picked it up, strode to the door, and wrenched it open. "Paul! Take him back to the cells!"

As he watched Paul and another plod taking Ferrell down, moaning at every step about compensation for wrongful arrest, Morgan emerged into the corridor.

"Ah, DI Collins. I've given your DC my statement and contact details. So glad to have the opportunity to say goodbye." He shook Jason's hand and looked about him. "I know Hunt's on leave, but I'd expected to see a couple of other familiar faces. I know that two of his team transferred to the Met with him. Carling and Skelton. Do you know if they're around today?"

"DC Skelton's in witness protection," Jason said quietly. "DI Carling was killed in a shootout last month. I replaced him. He was my father."

Morgan looked astonished. "Really! I never knew that he had been promoted, much less that he had died or that he had a son in the Force. Please pardon me if I awakened unhappy memories."

"I have no memories. He and I never met. But I am very proud of him."

"I'm sure you are. Just as he would be of you, if he had known what a fine young man you've turned out to be." Morgan shook his hand again. "Do let me know if I can be of any further assistance - and please remember what I said earlier."

"Thank you, Sir. I will."

Morgan gave him a penetrating look. "Remember, you may need a refuge from Hunt one day." He turned and walked away down the corridor.

Jason turned away. He felt more shaken by the day's events than he wanted to admit. In 2010, his conduct when interviewing Ferrell would have cost him his career. In this world, it was regarded as the norm. Although he had frequently looked on with approval while the Guv reduced some scum of the earth to the lowest common denominator, today was the first time that he had resorted to violence himself.

Was this place changing him? Was he becoming too much like the Guv? Should he take Morgan's advice, and escape the station while he had the chance?

"Anyone at home?" Lisa had approached unnoticed, and he started like a guilty thing. "I've done my report. Done yours?"

Jason pulled himself back to reality, or what passed for reality here. "No, I've been interviewing Ferrell. He won't admit to anything. We'll have to nail him with the forensic evidence. I'll write my report tomorrow. Come on, let me buy you a drink."

"Sandro's is closed today," she reminded him.

"Damn, so it is."

"In any case, thanks for the offer, but I think I'll head for home. I'm knackered after spending all that time with the kids and nailing felons."

"I'll take you, then," he said instantly. "The Cavalier's outside."

"Thanks." They started off down the corridor. "We can have that drink back at mine, if you like. I've got orange juice and mineral water."

Jason tried not to yawn. "A black coffee will suit me just fine, thanks."

They came out of the station and got into the car, and as he put the key in the ignition, Jason realised that the fears which Morgan had aroused, had receded into the background. Sure, he had lost his temper, but he'd been tired. It had been a long day for all of them. Nothing for him to worry about. Where the Guv and Lisa were, was the right place to be.

**TBC**

**A/N: Jason's favourite book is "Feet of Clay" by Terry Pratchett. Check out allofmyheart's A2A/Discworld crossover "Coppers are Coppers", which explores the similarities between Fenchurch East and the Ankh-Morpork City Watch.**

**Gene and Alex come back in the next chapter!**


	13. Brought to Mind

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes… Unfortunately.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who read Chapter 12, and especially to my three kind reviewers. It's so encouraging that some people are still prepared to follow this story. **

**Gene and Alex are back in this chapter, together with some more familiar faces…**

**If you enjoy it, please click on that little review button – it means so much! **

The Guv and DI Drake returned from leave two days later, both looking like cats who had got the cream. Jason noted that Alex wore a heavy gold chain which he had not seen before, with a gleaming curved arrow brooch on her very new-looking white jacket, and that a gold signet ring glittered on the Guv's left hand. The Guv was visibly pleased with the news of Ferrell's arrest, and readily agreed Jason's application that he and Lisa should have double-bubble for their work on the case on Christmas Day. As Jason had prophesied, the forensic report had proved that the drugs store and the stolen drugs were covered in Ferrell's fingerprints. The bastard had been charged, and as he could not raise bail, he would be remanded in custody for the foreseeable future. Jason hoped that that would give them time to get evidence of common assault from Mrs Ferrell.

A call-out to a robbery at a warehouse loaded with goods for the January sales kept them busy for most of the day, and it wasn't until they were all relaxing at Sandro's in the evening that Jason had the chance for a small boast.

"Didn't get the chance to tell you earlier, Guv. Lisa and I got a job offer when we nailed Ferrell."

Gene glared. "You've _got_ a job. Here. With me."

"I know, I know," Jason said placatingly. "But I thought you'd like to know that someone else thinks that highly of your officers."

"What was the offer for, then? Assistants to Coco the clown?" Jason saw Alex shudder. "Custard pie makers? Pointy-eared little elves at Santa's grotto?"

Jason grinned. "All wrong, Guv. There was another police officer in the hospital at the same time as us, who helped us catch Ferrell, and he offered us a place on his team if we wanted it. DCI Morgan of Discipline and Complaints."

Gene jumped as though he had received an electric shock. "_Morgan?_" Alex said nothing, but she went very pale and Jason heard her gasp.

"That's right, Guv." Jason spoke carefully. "He, uh, said he knew you when you were both in the GMP. He's just transferred to the Met to replace a colleague who's been demoted, and he's building up his team."

"Tall, thin bastard with a bog-brush moustache who looks like 'e eats curtain poles?"

"That's him, Guv." Lisa tried to conceal her amusement.

Gene fixed them both with his coldest glare. "Cheeky bugger. An' what did you say to 'is _job offer_?"

"We turned it down, of course," Jason said quickly.

"So I should bloody well 'ope!"

"I wouldn't have thought much of our taste if we'd accepted," Jason said briskly. "Who'd want to spend all their time bad-mouthing their colleagues when they can be out there catching criminals?"

"Morgan does, for one," Gene said bitterly. "An' I'd bet my shares in Glenmorangie that 'e'll 'ave told you about the time 'e took over _my_ team because I was in the frame for murder?"

"He did," Jason admitted. Under Gene's accusing gaze, it would have been impossible to say anything else. "And he, er, indicated that you and he hadn't been on the best of terms in Manchester. But he did say that you'd been found to be completely innocent of the charge."

"That's because I was," Gene said harshly. The easy atmosphere between the four of them had gone, and they all felt on edge. He slammed his glass down and looked hard at Jason. "I know you'll be wondering now why I never told you this before. All those stories, an' never this one. Well, I'll tell you. It's because I didn't want you to know that your Dad was one of the miserable tossers who believed that I could be a frigging, bastard _murderer_."

"He was?" Jason came down to earth with a bump. He had already been constructing a scenario in his mind, in which his father had been the only one to come racing to the Guv's rescue in his hour of extremest need.

"Yeah. Tyler was the only one who believed me." Jason had heard all about Sam Tyler, the man whom the Guv had practically canonised. "An' there's something else Morgan _won't _'ave told you. How 'e conned Tyler into blowing the gaff on an undercover operation an' nearly got us all killed. Me, Annie, Chris an' your Dad. If Tyler hadn't come back just in time, we'd all 'ave been dead, just so's Morgan could make 'imself look better than us."

Jason and Lisa had been listening in silent horror. Gene's face was like granite, and his eyes glittered like chips of blue ice. Alex laid a comforting hand on his sleeve, but he ignored her.

"No, Guv, he didn't tell us that." Jason spoke with difficulty. "He only said that you hadn't seen eye to eye."

"Well, _I'm_ telling you now." There was a deathly silence as he looked around the table. "Keep away from Frank Morgan. He's trouble."

"Don't worry, Guv," Jason said soothingly.

"Who says I'm worrying? I'm _not _worrying."

"He came here on Christmas Day to give his statement, so unless we need to interview him again - "

"Morgan in _my_ station?"

"Yes, Guv, but only for the statement."

Gene knocked back the remainder of his whisky and slammed his glass down again. "I turn my back for three days an' the children let the enemy through the door."

"I'm sorry, Guv, we didn't know - "

"Of course you didn't," Alex said quietly, but Gene paid her no heed.

"I'll tell you something else, too." Gene glared around the table again. All other talk at the CID tables had ceased long ago, and they all listened with rapt attention. "You lot may be a prize collection of twats an' tossers, but you are _my_ team. This place is mine. You lot belong to me. Not Morgan. Me. You're not going anywhere unless I say so. And I don't say so."

"No, Guv," a few were brave enough to mumble. There was a deep silence. Jason saw Alex trying to steal her hand into Gene's, but he seemed so isolated that she might have been on the other side of the Channel. Then someone came into the restaurant, and it broke the spell like applause after a classical concert. The usual hubbub of restaurant noises started up again, but Gene still looked as though he had been turned to stone.

"Guv," Jason ventured timidly, "may I ask you a question?"

"Doesn't mean I'll answer it," Gene said curtly, pouring himself another whisky.

"That dark little office that you won't let anyone go into. Did DCI Morgan used to work there?"

"No." Gene swallowed the whisky, put the glass down, and fixed Jason with an accusing eye. "The bastard who worked there made Frank Morgan look like a scout master, triple DSO, Hon Sec of City fan club and all round thorough good egg." He rose and picked up the half-empty bottle. "Bolly."

Alex rose, her face full of concern, and they went upstairs together.

"Who _did_ work in that office?" Lisa asked of no-one in particular.

"That was DCI Keats," Poirot, who was sitting next to her, announced. "Another D&C man. Smarmy, slippery bastard. He an' the Guv hated each other. He disappeared when your Dad was killed and Chris an' Shaz went into hiding."

"The Guv does seem to have a vendetta against D&C," Lisa said thoughtfully.

"Boot's on the other leg," Terry informed her. "D&C 'ave got a vendetta against the Guv. Don't like 'im 'cos 'e bends the rules to get bastards off the streets."

"Yeah, but stick to the book like Keats wants us to do, an' we'd all be murdered in our beds," Slate said pugnaciously. "Sandro! Another beer 'ere!"

Jason sipped his mineral water, lost in thought while the others grew steadily rowdier around him. Sandro's sound system pumped out an insistent beat.

_Let me take you to the place_

_Where membership's a smiling face..._

_"A successful operation. Thank you all, ladies and gentlemen. Now it's up to Jason. His condition remains critical, and he must be kept in a medically induced coma until he improves. In the meantime, we'll continue to monitor him for brain damage. He seems to be responding, but - "_

_Fun and sunshine - there's enough for everyone..._

Jason dropped his glass. "SANDRO!"

Sandro was at his elbow at once. "Signor Collins? You would like another drink?"

Jason looked up at him, pale and shaking. "What the hell was that?"

Sandro picked up his bottle and looked at it. "San Pellegrino."

"No, no, on the sound system!"

"Club Tropicana, Signor Collins. Wham, no? You do not like it? Shall I change it to one of my uncle's opera tapes, maybe?"

"No, thanks." Jason grabbed his jacket and stood up. "I'll call it a night." He made his way unsteadily up the stairs, not noticing Lisa's outstretched hand or hearing her call after him.

-oO0Oo-

Gene and Alex entered the flat in silence. She dared not speak, knowing how Morgan's return had reawakened all the old grief over Sam. Gene threw his coat over the back of the sofa and took a deep draught from his half-finished bottle of whisky. Neither spoke, and for a long time the silence lay heavily between them.

"We knew that one of them would come sooner or later," she ventured at last.

"Yeah." Gene barked out the monosyllable and took another gulp.

"We just didn't expect that it would be so soon." Gene drank again without deigning to answer her. "Morgan this time. Not Keats. Or you thought it might be Callahan. Their Super." Gene pointedly turned away and helped himself to another bottle from the cupboard. Alex slammed her fist on the kitchen table. "Gene, will you listen to me!"

He whirled around to face her. "I listen morning, noon and night. It's called Radio Drakey, broadcasting twenty-four hours a bloody day!"

"Oh, you - you bloody _man_, you! That's right, run away and get pissed! It's hard, we knew this was going to be hard, but if you back off and get bladdered instead of facing up to it, you'll be playing right into Morgan's hands!"

"Morgan!" he shouted. "Bloody Morgan! The one who got at Sam! Who nearly got the lot of us killed! I swore I'd 'ave 'is dick for a cigar case if I saw 'im again, an' he waltzes into _my _kingdom when my back's turned! Poisoning the place like a disease!"

"You can't blame anyone at the station for that," Alex said evenly. "We hadn't warned anyone there about him. Do you think that's why he's been sent this time instead of Keats? Or you thought that he might be Keats with another face."

"No." Gene was calmer now. "That theory's down the dunny. Didn't you 'ear what Collins said? Morgan's replaced a colleague who's been demoted. It's as I thought. Keats is in the shit, big time. He overreached himself with the riot. Sacks boasted to some of 'is mates shortly before the riot that 'e had a senior police officer acting as 'is messenger boy, an' one of the survivors told the cops. Bad luck for Keats that prison records show that he was the only senior officer to 'ave any contact with Sacks for at least six months before the riot kicked off. It isn't proof that Keats was behind it, but there's enough circumstantial evidence to raise a stink like a fortnight-old kipper in a dustbin. He's wanted for questioning. _That's_ why we've been sent Morgan. That, an' because Callahan knows that me seein' Morgan again is gonna hurt like hell." He took a long swig from his new bottle and, much to Alex's relief, set it down.

"It might also be because Callahan thought that Jason would find Morgan more impressive," she suggested cautiously. "Jason's a DCI in his own time. He might look on Keats as a young whipper-snapper. But I think it could backfire. Morgan's just the type that Jason's likely to associate with his hated grandfather. And I think Lisa must have parent trouble too, so she won't appreciate an authoritative father figure either. When we were shopping together before Christmas, she mentioned to me that her father and mother are in America, and that they hadn't wanted her to be a copper."

"Looks like that's her _issue_, then."

"It does."

"Funny 'ow often "issues" " - he waggled his fingers - "are to do with parents. Me, Sam, you, now these two."

"Yes, and a grandparent in Jason's case. Everyone in CID must have an issue of some kind to be sorted out, if only we knew what they were."

"Terry's an' Paul's must be to do with cats," Gene said drily.

"And children, in Paul's case." Alex smiled. She had noticed how much he loved playing with Sandro's daughters when he was off duty. "Morgan will go for everyone's weaknesses, just as Keats did. But it doesn't sound as though he made a very favourable impression on either Jason or Lisa. And neither of them seemed to like the idea of a job in D&C."

"No," Gene acknowledged. "But just because they turned Morgan down first time, doesn't mean 'e won't be back. For them and for the others."

"Oh, of course he'll be back. Again and again. We both know that, and we'll have to be on our guard for it."

"Yeah." Gene sat at the kitchen table, the bottle by his hand. Alex sat opposite him. "Bastard might not come out an' face me. Just 'ang around like a bad smell. He knows I've got form on 'im from when 'e tried to wreck the Johns sting. I got Sam to write down a full report, an' I kept a copy of the file as insurance when I moved down 'ere."

"You said on Boxing Day that there's a _real_ D&C, as well as Keats's outfit. Hell," Alex said cautiously. "How can that be?"

"Not entirely sure myself," Gene admitted. "My guess is, the "real" D an' C 'ere - " he waggled his fingers - "is made up of D an' C officers from the real world who've come 'ere to be sorted out, an' their constructs. A lot of 'em could 'ave leanings towards Hell."

"But there must be some good people in D&C in real life," Alex protested.

"Yeah, an' you know about the road to Hell being being paved with good intentions. But the D an' C that Callahan an' Keats an' Morgan run, that seems to operate alongside the "real" outfit. The poor sods can't realise that they're working alongside the Devils. But it does mean that Callahan an' 'is boys 'ave got to be very careful to play by the rules. It's why they're all such uptight, ruler-in-the-arse, pencil-necked prigs. An' why Morgan an' Keats both 'ad to disappear when they sailed too close to the wind. Callahan won't 'ave liked that."

"Could you send your report on Morgan to the real D&C now?" Alex suggested.

Gene shook his head. "Not that simple. We _were _breaking the rules on that sting, an' Morgan knew it. If I resurrect it now, it could blow up in our faces an' give 'im ammunition to use against us with Collins an' the others. I'll keep it in reserve for now. We might need it later, specially if he overreaches himself."

"Sam was here for nearly a year before Morgan came, and I was here for over two before Keats arrived," Alex said thoughtfully. "Jason's only been here a month. Do you think Morgan's come already because they're getting worried?"

"Rattled as a branch of Mothercare," Gene said decisively. "They've lost Ray, Chris, Shaz, an' you, an' before that, Sam, Annie an' Phyllis." He did not mention the two whom "they" had won, but their names hung unspoken in the air. "Want to try an' make up their deficit." Despite the gravity of the situation, he looked absurdly pleased with himself for having used such a posh word.

"Which means that he, _they_, might do something rash because they're too desperate to play a waiting game," Alex suggested.

"Might do." Gene stood, and Alex followed. "Nothing we can do about it tonight." _Except worry_, Alex thought, looking at his drawn face. "Morgan won't try breaking an' entering this early in the game, an' Collins is in beddy byes."

"How did you know?" Alex said, astonished.

"Heard 'im moving about upstairs, just after we came in." Gene looked horribly smug. "All stopped now. The day Mr Mineral Water wakes up with a hangover, we'll 'ave to get the bunting out. An' talking of beddy byes - " He took her hand and hauled her to her feet. "Let's go there. Come on, Bolly." He wrapped his arm around her and drew her towards the bedroom. "Come on. Tomorrow's another bastard day."

Alex leaned against him and reached up one hand to stroke his rough cheek. Once again, it would be up to her to soothe and calm him, and to make sure that he slept. They would both need to be extra alert from now on. The struggle for the souls of their charges had begun again.

-oO0Oo-

"Morgan!" Ray slammed his fist on the bar counter. "Bloody Morgan! Getting at my lad!"

The others eyed him uneasily. As soon as Morgan had appeared on the TV screen in the Railway Arms, Sam had gone off to the other end of the bar, and was now sitting at a table by himself, refusing to speak to anyone who approached him, Annie included.

Nelson sighed. In the past, his charges had often expressed frustration at their inability to know what was going on in the world they had left, so he had hoped that their new TV link to Mr Hunt's world would be a blessing. But thus far, all it had done was to create worry and dissension.

"Looks like that'll be all for tonight," he said firmly, turning the TV off. Not that that helped. If they were going to get a message from Mr Hunt's world, it switched itself on anyway. He put a fresh pint in front of Ray. "Not to worry, mon brave. Mr Hunt's taking care of your son."

"But _Morgan_!" Ray repeated. "The bastard who made _Tyler_ turn Judas!"

"That's enough, Ray," Annie said crisply. "We know you're worried, we all are, but that's no excuse to take it out on other people."

"Your Jason's a smart lad, Ray," Shaz said consolingly. "He won't fall for the devil's chat-up lines."

"Like me? You mean, like me?" Ray said bitterly. "I was the one who told Chris to ditch the radio, when we were in the lift lobby. You can't forget that, can you?"

"That wasn't what I meant." Shaz stepped back, hurt.

"You leave her alone!" Chris snapped.

Phyllis bounced out of her chair like a referee on speed. "_Some_ of us like to enjoy a reflective port and lemon without this place sounding like a football match after the final whistle. Less noise from the lot of you, or I start cracking some heads together."

"Sorry, Phyllis," Ray and Chris both mumbled.

Phyllis approached the bar. "Nelson, this is the Railway Arms. That means I can have whatever I want, doesn't it?"

"That's right, ma belle." Nelson passed her another port and lemon.

"Right. I'm the only custody sergeant here. I want a suite of cells downstairs, so I can bang this lot up whenever they get out of control."

"I'll look into it, Phyllis." Nelson rolled his eyes. Sometimes being in charge of coppers' Heaven wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.

The others drifted away, leaving Ray in wretched isolation at the bar. Nelson pulled him another pint, and he knocked it back in one.

"We've got to do something," Ray said desperately.

Nelson shook his head. "Not much we can do. You know as well as I do, none of us can go back to Mr Hunt's world now."

"Not even you?"

"Not even me, except when the pub materialises down there to collect new souls. And that might not be for some time yet."

"So we've just got to stay here and watch while Morgan tries to get my son?"

Nelson leaned over the bar. "You know, mon brave, a poet once said _They also serve, who only stand and wait._"

"Er, did he?" Ray was bemused.

"John Milton," Annie said, behind him. "_On His Blindness_. Dry sherry and a large whisky, please, Nelson. What'll you have, Ray?"

"Thanks, I'm, er, I'm OK," Ray mumbled.

She laid a hand on his arm. "Sorry about just now."

"Yeah. Me too. Accepted." He managed to smile. "An' tell Tyler."

She picked up the glasses and smiled back. "Thanks, I will. You can tell him later, when he's feeling better. It's hit him hard, seeing Morgan again. Remembering." She knew that it was not just the memory of his treachery over the Johns sting which had upset Sam. He was remembering the surgeon who had greeted him on his return to the real world, and the mother he had left behind to return to the Guv's world. There are some kinds of guilt which even the joys of Heaven cannot extinguish.

She tripped away with the drinks, and Nelson leaned on the counter. "_Stand and wait_. You're a copper, you know the truth of that_._ When you were on a stakeout, you might have had to stay there all night to nail your suspect. Maybe we'll be able to help Jason later on, but it'll have to be when the time's right."

Ray's face cleared. "You think so?"

Nelson shrugged. "Maybe. What we mustn't do, is interfere now. Jason's got to be tested, just as you and all the others were, and we can't do anything to affect that." Ray looked unconvinced. "Don't worry, mon brave. Your son's with Mr Hunt, and you've said yourself, being with him is the right place to be. He and DI Drake are taking good care of him. And who knows, he may wake up in the real world."

"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, mate."

"Think nothing of it. And in the meantime, there's a beautiful lady over there." Nelson nodded towards the table where Ray's current girlfriend, DS Pauline Bishop, a pretty blonde with a great pair-sonality, sat waiting for him. "Take her this." He poured out a tot of apple cider for Pauline and put it on a tray with a pint of Ray's favourite bitter.

"Before you do, apologies to Chris and Shaz wouldn't be out of order," Phyllis said sharply as she passed by on the way to the Ladies'.

Ray groaned and leaned over the bar. "Nelson."

"Yes, mon brave?"

"Is this really Heaven?"

"Sure is. Why do you ask?"

"I'd never expected Heaven would be full of nagging birds!"

**TBC **


	14. Summons

**A/N: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes…**

**Many apologies for having left it over a month since the last update. I've been juggling my paid and unpaid jobs and dealing with the aftermath of a burglary (oh for the Genie to seek out and arrest the miscreants). I'll try not to leave it so long next time. This chapter starts a new story arc which I hope will appeal to LOM as well as A2A lovers. If you like it, or even if you don't, please review!**

**RIP PC Gene Hunt, killed at Farringfield Green on 2 June 1953, 60 years ago today.**

The hospital provided CID with Mrs Ferrell's address, at a battered wives' refuge in Lambeth. Jason was not surprised when Gene told Alex to visit her, but he had not expected that the Guv would insist upon accompanying her. He would have thought that such a forceful, even violent man would disdain a "domestic" and leave it to Alex and Lisa. But when he tried asking the others why Gene would interest himself in such a case, to a man and a woman they professed ignorance, although it was clear to him that Alex knew something.

Gene and Alex were shown into a sitting room, furnished with a sagging sofa and scarred coffee table, where the residents met visitors. Knowing that the refuge was chronically short of money, Alex had the delicacy to refuse refreshments, which meant that Gene, to his disgust, was obliged to do likewise. For once, he had the tact to keep in the background while Alex explained their mission to Joan Ferrell, a small, plump woman with blonde hair going grey, who might have been pretty once and whose body habitually cowered as though expecting at any moment to absorb yet another balled-up fist.

"I'm sorry," Mrs Ferrell said quietly when Alex had finished. "I can't."

"It's understandable to have feelings of loyalty to your husband," Alex said cautiously, "but - "

"I have none." Her voice sounded flat and dead, as though every last ounce of spirit had been pummelled out of her. "Bob has ruined my life, and taken everything I have, except for my son."

Gene spoke up. "What we've got on 'im will put 'im away for several months for theft. But any evidence you can give us on what he's done to you an' your kid could send 'im down for a lot longer. Maybe years. It also might stop 'im using some other poor cow as a punchbag when 'e's released."

She looked from one to the other. "I know you're trying to help, and it's very kind of you to come. But however short or long a time he's put away, Bob will come out eventually, and when he does, he'll find me. He _will_, I know he will. He's done it before. And if I've testified against him at his trial, he'll kill me, and then what would happen to my little boy? There isn't anyone else. He'd go into a home. For his sake, I daren't do anything to make Bob angry. I'll live in fear, so long as he's alive."

Alex knew that the protections available to battered wives in this time were far less than in her own. "We can't force you to testify. But if you change your mind before the trial, let us know."

Mrs Ferrell shook her head. "I'm afraid I won't. I'm sorry, I know I'm disappointing you. But I can't. There's nowhere to run, and I know the police can't protect me."

"Listen up." Gene took a card from his pocket."Would you leave London to give you an' your kid a chance to get away from that bastard an' start over?"

She stared at him. "If only I could, but Bob took everything. Georgie and I had to flee our home with nothing more than a few clothes in a bag. I have no money at all. We're living on charity here."

"Friend of mine's a hotelier in Manchester. He's looking for a letting clerk for 'is holiday cottages. Job's yours if you want it. You an' the kid can stay in a staff bedroom in one of 'is hotels until you've got somewhere to live."

"B - but neither you nor he know anything about me."

Gene shrugged. "Job's not nuclear physics, an' he says, if you're that desperate for a fresh start, he knows you'll do your best. Can't do more." He held the card out to her. "So?"

She took at and gazed at it as though it were made of gold and set with precious stones. "Yes, I'll take it. I know I can borrow the money for the coach fares from the refuge." She looked up at him. "God bless you and him. But why are you and he doing this for us?"

Gene looked at her very intently. "Mr Sharkey knows what it is to 'ave to stand up to a bully. An' I once knew a young lad whose Dad knocked 'im an' 'is brother an' 'is Mam around. Couldn't stand it an' took to drugs. He was found dead in a derelict 'ouse with a needle in 'is arm. He was only sixteen. You don't want that to 'appen to your kid, do you?"

"No. No, of course I don't. Heaven must have sent you. How can I ever thank you?"

"By doin' well at the job an' looking after the kid."

"I will. Thank you. My Georgie's gone to hospital for a check-up today. He'll be wild when he finds that he's missed seeing you. Ever since Bob was arrested, he's talked of nothing but becoming a policeman when he grows up."

There was a distant look in Gene's eyes. "He'll be a credit to the Force. I started out in the Greater Manchester Police. Long time ago now. Good luck, love."

-oO0Oo-

It was the third week in January. The office was quiet, with everyone catching up on their paperwork or calculating their chances in the football sweep, when Gene's office door flew open.

"Drake. A word."

They all looked up in surprise, Alex included. Gene's voice and face were grim, and she searched her conscience for anything she might have done to enrage him.

"Yes, Guv." She entered his office and closed the door, and he drew the blind down.

"Just got this letter." He handed it to her. "There'll be one like it in your in-tray. Summons to appear at Litton's tribunal in Manchester in two weeks' time."

"Oh." She sat on the edge of his desk. "But I thought he was going to be pensioned off? We found that carbon copy in Keats's office of a letter to DCI Cross, his oppo in Manchester. It looked as though he wanted Litton out of the way without it going to a tribunal."

"Yeah." He poured himself a whisky and sat down. "Trouble is, looks like the top brass in Manchester didn't agree. They're worried about large-scale corruption in the force, an' they want to make an example of 'im."

"God help him."

"An' by the same post I got this." He handed her an opened envelope with a Manchester postmark, addressed to him in a shaky hand. She took out the letter it contained. The writing was spidery but legible.

_Geno,_

_They're out to get me. You'll be called as witness. Tell the truth and don't incriminate yourself to protect me. I'm done for anyway. I heard about Ray & Chris. We're the only ones left from the old days now. Don't let them get you too._

_D. L._

She looked up and met Gene's eye. "He's frightened. Look at this writing. His hand was shaking."

"Shit-scared."

"But who are _they_? Out to get him?"

Gene looked grim. "You've never served in Manchester. Things are done differently up there. There's a saying among coppers, _The North, where we do what we want._"

"You think that he's in danger from the people who were in on Bevan's racket, and want their names kept out of it?"

"Let's just say that it could make a lot of bent coppers sleep easier in their beds if they knew he wouldn't live to face the tribunal."

"Keats knew that, and sent him back." Alex was as grim as Gene.

"Threw 'im to the wolves." Gene poured himself a whisky and drank half of it. "Funny 'ow these things turn out. Time was I wouldn't 'ave crossed the road to spit on Litton if 'e was on fire. I've told you, stopping 'im's one of my vocations in life."

"But now..." Alex offered.

"Yeah, it's different now. He's one of us, an' - "

"Do you say that because he's a copper? Or because he's - " She waggled her fingers.

"_One of us_," Gene finished her sentence emphatically. "Been 'ere for longer than anyone else, an' it'll still be a long time yet before he's ready to go to the pub, because he's a Grade A prat with extra knobs. But he's an innocent prat. He did _not_ deserve what Keats did to 'im. He attempted suicide after 'e was sent back to Manchester, did you know?"

"No, I didn't." Alex was horrified. "Why would he do that?"

"Don't know. Might be because, if he died in post, 'is missus would get 'is pension, but she'd lose it if 'e died after 'e'd been sacked."

"I didn't even know he was married," Alex admitted.

"Yes, poor cow. Fancy a life sentence of being hitched to Derek."

"But is he all right now?"

"Oh, yes. Couldn't even kill 'imself successfully. Locked 'imself in 'is garage an' turned the engine on, but a passer-by spotted the exhaust coming out from under the garage door an' called the fire brigade. They found 'im unconscious an' got 'im to hospital. But if he had succeeded in killing 'imself, Keats would 'ave got 'im, too."

"And now he's facing Keats's tribunal."

"Yes." Gene looked grimmer than ever. "Never thought I'd be saying this, an' I'm breaking the habit of a lifetime, but we'll do our best for 'im."

"How can we?" Alex said dubiously. "He _was_ doing wrong. Hardwick was in fear for his life because of him and Bevan. Whatever evidence we give, we'll have to admit that. And his suicide attempt will have given the tribunal an assumption of his guilt."

"That's if 'e _did_ try to kill 'imself," Gene said meaningfully.

"_They're out to get me._" Alex was appalled. "That's what he means. It wasn't attempted suicide. It was attempted murder. But why didn't he tell the police at the time?"

"Because it would 'ave been coppers who tried to kill 'im, you daft tart! That's why he's scared."

"Dear God. So how can we help him at the tribunal? They may have decided the result before it begins."

"Well, for starters, I've just found this among Jimbo's papers." He brandished a folder. "Carbon copy of 'is report to Cross on Litton's case. He'd 'idden it in one of those old case files."

"Oh, God. What does it say?"

"For once, he's let the facts speak for 'emselves. May 'ave guessed that 'e might not be around when the tribunal came up, an' if 'e said something which could be disproved by the GMP mob, 'is case'd collapse. Only problem is, the bastard's weighted everything to imply that, while there was no _proof_ of Litton being in on Bevan's rackets, he'd known about 'em and turned a blind eye. Gives us something to work on. We'll read this an' the case files until we could recite 'em in our sleep. Then at the hearing, we'll tell the truth an' shame the Devil. An' we'll take our guns." He glanced out of the glass panels at the main office. "No more of this now, Bolly. We'll talk on the way up to Manchester. We'll 'ave to be away at least one night, probably two. I'll ring Sharkey an' book a room in one of 'is hotels, an' I'll get DCI Redgwick from Fenchurch West to cover for us again."

"If it's only a couple of nights, don't you think you might let Jason take charge?" Alex suggested timidly. "Ray held the fort for three months when he was DI. And when he took over the operation to nail Hoorsten, it was the making of him, and of Chris and Shaz."

"I'm not leaving Collins in charge while Morgan might be sniffing around."

"It didn't make any difference at Christmas," Alex objected. "Redgwick stayed at Fenchurch West and Morgan got in here because Jason and Lisa didn't know any better. They will, now."

"Collins isn't experienced enough. An' the Super will agree with me."

"Gene, Jason is a DCI in his own time."

Gene stuck out his chin. "We've 'ad this argument before, when we were after Cale."

"And you didn't pay me any attention then, and you aren't now! When was the last time you _gave_ the team any responsibility? Any genuine you-make-the-decision responsibility? As opposed to leaving them to take over because we'd both gone - " She checked herself. She would not blame him for pursuing her to Farringfield Green.

Gene, as usual, took refuge in bluster. "I AM THEIR DCI NOT THEIR BLOODY AKELA, WOMAN!"

"Just as well! This place is _not_ the Boy Scouts, is it?" Alex caught the change of mood. A big, noisy quarrel right here, right now would let them both skirt around a still painful truth.

Outside in the main office, CID exchanged long-suffering glances, hunkered down, and pointedly ignored the firestorm. Just another normal day with the Met.

-oO0Oo-

Much to Gene's chagrin, he ended up losing the argument. On the day of the tribunal, DCI Redgwick would be absent at a conference, and his own DI would be covering at Fenchurch West. When applied to, the Super airily declared that if Fenchurch West could be ruled by a DI for twenty-four hours, Fenchurch East could surely survive likewise.

"DI Collins seems a fine, intelligent young fellow. This is the chance to let him show what he's made of. Don't worry, Hunt, your kingdom won't collapse because you're absent for twenty-four or forty-eight hours."

"Just what I _am_ worried about," Gene muttered, not loud enough for the Super to hear. For once he had to admit defeat, and content himself with a falsely jocular warning to the team, in Sandro's the night before his and Alex's departure, that "anyone who transfers to D an' C while we're away'll find it stands for Despair an' Curses when I get back."

Once they were on the motorway, Alex turned to Gene. "Right. You said we were going to talk on the way up to Manchester, about what we're going to do for Litton. Don't you think it's time we got started?"

"Not the only thing I want to get started," he leered, and was rewarded with a glare. "Right. I wanted us to talk 'ere because this is one place we know we can't be overheard. Didn't want to risk any of the team hearing us in my office, an' when we get to Manchester we'll 'ave to look over our shoulders."

"We will? Why?"

"Because it's not my manor now," Gene said bitterly. "I don't know the territory any longer." Alex sensed what it cost him to admit that he had grown so far away from his beloved native city. "I've still got my contacts at GMP, blokes who used to be on my team, but anyone I don't already know'll be looking on us as interlopers, tryin' to bring down one of their own."

"Oh."

"Anyway. First, it was Keats who called for this tribunal, an' now he's vanished in mysterious circumstances. I'd 'oped that'd mean that they'd call it off, but no such crummy luck. DCI Cross, the GMP D an' C bloke, must be pushing for it from 'is end. Might mean that Litton's lawyer could call its legality into question, though."

"Who is his lawyer?"

"Don't know. If it's Merrick, I 'ope to God Litton doesn't let 'im near any booze."

"Merrick - oh, your lawyer when you were under suspicion of murdering Haslam."

"S'right. Not a bad lawyer when 'e's on the wagon, but 'e's pissed if 'e so much as walks past a pub. Anyway, second. Keats's charge against Litton was _failing to prevent criminal acts perpetrated by 'is own officer._" He snorted. "Bollocks. Any Guv, no matter 'ow clean they are, could 'ave a rotten apple in the barrel an' not know it." Alex nodded sympathetically. She knew that he was thinking of Chris and Viv. "We know Bevan wasn't working alone. Hardwick 'ad heard about a _bunch_ of coppers extorting protection money."

"Is that being investigated, in addition to Litton's tribunal?"

"From what my spies tell me, they're getting Litton's case out of the way first, which is bad news. Like I told you, top brass may want to use 'im as a fall guy."

"Do you think this goes to the top, as Mac's corruption did?"

"Don't know, but it doesn't look like it. More likely to be a crooked team with Bevan in the lead. The tribunal will be focusing on whether or not Litton knew what Bevan was up to. If they find that 'e did, an' he covered it up, then 'e's Sunday lunch. His only chance is to convince 'em that Bevan pulled the wool over 'is eyes. That 'e trusted Bevan, an' Bevan let 'im down. Given the choice between being jailed for protecting a murderer an' being made to look an innocent prat, I know which our Derek would prefer."

"_Did_ he know?" Alex said doubtfully.

"That's what they'll be asking us," Gene said grimly. "Looks bad for 'im. But you were there, Bolly. What did _you_ think?"

She thought back to a night of confusion, to running Litton to earth in Luigi's as he threatened Hardwick, of the man's stunned shock as they told him the truth...

"No," she said at last. "He didn't. His body language was all wrong. He's a cocky bastard, and if he'd known, he'd have been able to brazen it out."

"Good." Gene's face was carefully in neutral. "My conclusion too."

"You didn't think so at the time," she said acidly. "What _you_ said, as I recall, was, _Like hell he didn't._"

"A lifetime's instinct of not trusting Litton," Gene admitted. "But the bastard came good for us. An' the irony is, that the one time 'e came good, Keats got 'im for something we're agreed that 'e _didn't_ do. Which is why we'll tell the tribunal that 'e's innocent. They'll question us separately. We went through the reports before sending the case file to GMP, an' we both know what 'appened. They won't be able to catch us out by making us tell 'em two different stories. They're likely to put a lot of weight on our evidence because we're the only two available witnesses from the Fenchurch team. Keats 'as vanished, Ray's supposed to be dead, an' Chris an' Shaz are meant to be in hiding. Even Luigi's buggered off back to Italy."

"Oh, dear Lord, I hadn't thought of that. What on earth do we do if they move to call Chris and Shaz as witnesses?"

"They've got new IDs now. Officially untraceable until the last of Hoorsten's lads gets canned. The investigation's never been closed, an' until it is, Shaz's life would be in danger if she surfaces."

"I only hope that'll be enough."

"Yeah, me too." Gene was plainly more worried than he would let on. "Then there's Hardwick. He's grateful to Litton for saving 'is life. If Litton 'adn't come over to us when 'e did, an' given 'im the bullet proof vest, Hardwick'd be dead, an' he knows it. I 'aven't contacted 'im, didn't want to prejudice the case, but if he's called I'm guessing he'll blame Bevan for everything." His face darkened. "Which leaves Bevan. My contacts in Manchester tell me he's being kept in the prison hospital. His bullet wound's still giving 'im gyp, an' it keeps 'im away from the other inmates. Cop in jail's an easy target. An from what I've been hearing, Bevan knows he's for the choppy-chop when 'e comes to trial. He blames Litton for double-crossing 'im, an' he's determined he won't go down alone. He'll make out that Litton was in it all along an' get 'im jailed too. Bastard."

"Gene," Alex said timidly, "what _did_ you say, when you were bending over Bevan after you shot him? Don't tell me it was some nonsense about City caning United."

Gene said nothing until he had taken the car into a layby. Then he turned to face her, his face hard and set. "I said to him, _Hardwick's alive_. He thought the chief witness against 'im was dead. Didn't know about the vest. I didn't think 'e'd like it, but I wasn't expecting 'im to scream like Ingrid Pitt." He looked away. "The way he looked at me, I'm wondering now - maybe he didn't see me. Maybe he saw _him._"

"Him?"

"The other me. PC 6620."

"Oh." There was nothing else Alex could think of to say. "But why did you tell me - "

He blazed like a forest fire. "Would you have believed me, if I'd told you the truth then? You were obsessed with Tyler. You wouldn't have believed me unless I'd told you chapter an' verse about what had really 'appened to 'im."

It was her turn to look away. "No, you're right. I wouldn't."

He reached for her hand and held it. "All over now. We both know everything. Nothing more to hide."

"But what does Bevan know about Sam's disappearance? He photographed the scene, and he said that you got him to falsify evidence."

Gene sighed. "I told you, Sam an' I set fire to 'is car an' pushed it in the river. When it was winched out, I got Bevan to photograph the scene. He'd taken 'is first snap before I realised that all the doors were closed. Tyler should 'ave left the driver's door open, to look like 'e'd got out and swum for it. He must 'ave forgotten, dozy bastard. "

"So Bevan realised that the body should still have been in the car."

"Right on. I stopped 'im after the first photo an' opened the driver's door. So he saw me tampering with the scene an' came to the conclusion that I'd knocked Sam off, disposed of the body elsewhere, an' put the car in the river to cover my tracks. He kept that first photo an' tried to blackmail me with it. I wouldn't bite, but that was one more reason why I left Manchester when I did. And why I 'ad to redact all the copies of the report, in case 'e used it against me an' Sam. What _does_ worry me, is that when Bevan's questioned about Litton's conduct at Fenchurch, he might bring up the fact that you asked 'im about Sam. An' that could open up the whole bloody investigation, all over again."

"Oh, no!" Alex clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, Gene, what have I done to you?"

"Nothing you 'adn't done already, courtesy of Keats. What Bevan won't know is, that you an' I are singing off the same sheet now. He can't play us off against each other. An' there isn't a file on Tyler any longer. I saw to that."

"Dear God. Bevan doesn't know it, but he has the power to uncover the nature of this world. Just as Keats tricked me into doing. This isn't just about saving Litton. It's about stopping Bevan, too."

"One thing, Bevan can't 'ave told Litton he 'ad evidence against me. Derek would never 'ave been able to keep quiet about that. Given that Bevan's about to be tried for murder, attempted murder, extortion an' corruption, an accusation against me may not 'old much water, but you're right, he's got the ability to do a lot of damage. All he's said in response to questioning so far is "no comment", but that might be because he wants to save up some nice, juicy revelations for the tribunal an' the trial. He knows he's going down, so 'e'll go out with a bang. An' once 'e shoots off 'is mouth in public, we won't be able to stop 'im. Bevan's a loose cannon, an' there's not much we can do about that, short of getting 'im murdered in 'is bed."

Alex drew away, shocked. "Gene, you wouldn't - "

He pulled his hand back with a look of disgust. "Give me some credit, Bolly. I've been suspected of murder twice, I'm not likely to dent my record for a scrote like Bevan."

Alex was instantly conscience-stricken. "I'm sorry I said that, sorry. I said it without thinking how it would hurt you."

Gene's face was flinty. "Accepted."

"I wouldn't have thought of it if I wasn't so worried. Bevan is a vindictive weasel, and he has the power to do you and this world so much harm."

"Another thing that's 'arder for us to deal with, now we know the truth about this place. We know what's at stake. The joys of being a Guardian. Come on, Bols." He re-started the engine. "The fleshpots of Manchester await. Tonight I'll teach you to drink a real Northern pint - "

"Ugh! You will not."

"An' tomorrow we've got Litton's unworthy soul to save. Let's fire up the Quattro."

-oO0Oo-

Gene was relieved that their route into Manchester did not take them past the place where Sam's car had been hoisted from the river. Even now he remembered the truth of what had happened to Sam, the sight of that stretch of river bank would bring forth too many frightful memories. At Viv's wake, he had described his own, Ray's and Chris's departure for London as expulsion from Paradise, but he knew that this return would not be an earthly Paradise regained. Sam, Annie, Ray, Chris and Phyllis, all were gone. Even Nelson would not be at the Railway Arms, if there was still a pub on that site at all. Everything had changed. He was a stranger in his own town, and the station would be filled with strangers. He had not wanted to come back, but there was a job to do.

"C'mon, let's find the Regal Hotel. Princess Street."

-oO0Oo-

"Mr Hunt! DI Drake! Welcome to the Regal! I never expected to see you again so soon. Can't get enough of the North, can you?"

"Never, Sharkey. Never. But this is police work, not a dirty weekend, so we'll be _paying_ for this one, ta."

Sharkey's face fell. "Oh, dear, and I've told the manager to book you into the premium suite."

Gene felt his wallet shuddering, but he held firm. "No worries. We're on expenses." _Even though our "expenses" will just about cover a beer and a sandwich._ "We're dealing with a potential corruption case, so we can't accept any perks this time. Wouldn't look good. Just give us a cheaper room if we 'ave to come back."

"All right, Mr Hunt. I wouldn't want to get you into trouble. But at least accept dinner on the house tonight."

Gene hesitated for a decorous amount of time. "Done. With a bottle of Bollinger."

"It's yours."

"Tell me, 'ow's that new letting clerk of yours getting along?"

"Fine, fine. Picked up the job in no time. She and her little lad are in one of the staff bedrooms at the Majestic until her first pay cheque comes through, then I'm getting a friend of mine to offer her a flat to rent. Let me show you to your suite."

The suite was, predictably, luxurious, but, much to Alex's annoyance, Gene refused to allow them to linger there.

"At least let me freshen up, Gene, I've been stuck in the car for hours."

"No time. We're off."

"Where, and why the hurry?"

"Officially, I'm taking you to the scene of one of my former triumphs. Unofficially, we're meeting a contact."

The Quattro blazed out of the town centre and touched down on a road running beside the canal. Gene took Alex down a flight of steps and gestured to the patch of green sward beside the muddy expanse of water.

"Now, this was where we nicked Kim Trent after the chase from the baths. I'll lay Sam'll 'ave told you that story?"

He was a little too big, a little too theatrical, and Alex guessed that this was an act for the benefit of anyone following them. She fell in with it.

"Oh, of course. When you had nowhere to keep your warrant card." She looked him up and down, especially down. "Hm, I can just imagine you in a pair of nice, colourful Speedos. Any chance I might get to see you wearing them some day, if I'm a very good girl? Or even a bad one?"

"Give over, you daft tart, it was bloody freezing - "

"Gene Hunt, as I live and breathe! What are _you_ doing back in Manchester?"

Alex spun around to face the speaker, and gave a cry of delight as she flung herself into the arms of the curly-headed woman with a pushchair.

"Jackie!"

"Hey, trouble magnet, where did you spring from?" Gene demanded at the same moment.

Jackie hugged Alex. "Well, Gene, I do live in Manchester. Unlike some of us. Sorry, Alex, I didn't recognise you with your back turned. I thought Gene must have got another girl. What have you done to your hair?"

"Bloody cheek," Gene growled.

"I just thought it was time for a change," Alex said, laughing. "And what do you mean, _another_ girl?"

"Ah, well, I was always positive that there was something going on." Jackie looked smug. "Looks like I was right, doesn't it?"

Whatever expostulation Gene might have made, was interrupted by a gurgle below them. All three looked down at a little girl with café-au-lait skin, curly black hair and gleaming brown eyes, who gazed up at them with wonder from her seat in the pushchair. Alex promptly lost her mind.

"Oh, you darling!" She dropped to her knees in front of the pushchair, but the little girl shrank back shyly and hid her face in her hands. Jackie bent over her.

"Vicky, Gene and Alex are very important people. You were named after them."

"Eh?" Gene demanded.

"Meet Victoria Alexandra Eugénie Queen. With our surname, I couldn't resist naming her after two queens and an empress, and of course the Alexandra Eugénie is after you two."

"Oh, Jackie..." Alex was deeply touched.

"I owe you so much, Alex," Jackie said earnestly. "You were the first person to make me realise what it is to be a mum. How it wasn't just a lark. How it was going to change me for ever._ Somebody else who's far, far more important than you._ I've never forgotten that, and it's helped me so much. And, Gene, you said that if it was a boy I'd have to call it Gene, so with a girl Eugénie was the best I could do." She pulled the pushchair over to a bench below the wall. "So, how are things with you? Plenty of criminal scum keeping you busy down south?"

She sat, with Gene beside her, while Alex knelt in front of the pushchair and played with Vicky. Gene fished his car keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of Vicky, and even managed a slight smile as her chubby little fingers reached out to them. To all intents and purposes, they were old friends catching up on past gossip.

"Right, Jackie, tip up," Gene said softly. "What 'ave you got for me?"

Jackie jogged the pushchair. "The day after Litton was taken to hospital, I went to see him." Her voice was quiet and urgent. "Charlie had picked up that he was one of the officers involved in the siege at the Gazette in '73 - "

"Charlie?"

"Our editor. George retired two years ago. Charlie wanted me to do a piece about Litton. I went along to see him, bunch of flowers, bag of fruit, just an old acquaintance wanting to see how he was doing."

"An' you 'ad your notebook."

"Right on. He was conscious, but he didn't look at all well. He had a bandage around his head, and he looked scared. I sat beside him and said, "Well, then, Derek, whatever did you try and kill yourself for?"

"God, you're even more tactless than Gene," Alex muttered, and Gene glared.

"Litton looked at me," Jackie went on. "His lips moved, but I couldn't hear him. I bent close, and I heard him say, "I didn't." "

"Ah..." Gene moved closer.

Jackie's voice dropped lower. "I said, "What do you mean?" and he said, "I'd gone in to wash the car. Someone hit me. Back of my head. Held me down while they turned the engine on. When they'd gone, I tried to stand up and get to the car, but I passed out. Choking. I came round in here. They wanted to get me."

Alex looked up. "_They_?"

"That's what he said. I wanted to ask him more, but just then a ward sister came in and ordered me out. She said I was disturbing him. I managed to talk to one of the nurses before I left, and she confirmed that he had a wound on the back of his head, but that the medical staff thought he'd hit his head in falling when he lost consciousness.

"I left, picked Vicky up from the child minder and went home, and just after I got through the door the phone rang. I picked it up, and a man's voice at the other end said, "Leave Litton alone. You've got a pretty daughter. You want her to have a face?" I asked who was calling, and the line went dead."

Gene's face was stony. "Bastards. What did you do?"

Jackie looked as though she were about to cry. "Next day I told Charlie that Litton hadn't told me anything." She looked away. "I know you must think I'm a coward. I used to think of myself as a crusading journalist, and I let myself be scared by a phone call." She looked up, pleadingly. "But I couldn't risk Vicky."

"You're a mother. You couldn't do anything else," Alex said gently.

"So why tell us now?" Gene demanded.

"Because you'll be witnesses at the tribunal tomorrow. I want you to know what you're up against, before you go in there. Watch your backs."

"You watch yours," Gene retorted gruffly. "Thanks for the tip-off. You've taken a risk, telling us this, Jackie."

"You saved Rachel, and you showed me how to be a Mum," she said firmly. "Two good turns deserve at least one."

"How is Rachel now?" Gene raised his voice for the benefit of anyone who might be listening.

"She started at Uni last September," Jackie informed him proudly. "Social studies. She's got a steady boyfriend."

"Is she still trouble?" Gene said drily.

Jackie grinned. "Pinches hub caps and traffic cones of a Saturday night, just like any other student. But she's a good kid. She's learned her lesson."

"So I should bloody well 'ope." He lowered his voice again. "Want us to see you 'ome?"

"No." She smiled bravely and rose. "I'm a big girl now. See you around, both."

"'Bye, Jackie. 'Bye, Vicky." Alex waved to Vicky, who waved back, and Jackie turned and wheeled the pushchair away. She looked lonely and frightened. Alex rose and sat on the bench beside Gene, who reached for his fags and lighter.

"Bastards," he muttered. "Threatening a kid."

"She's put herself in danger for us," Alex said anxiously. "We should tell CID here and get them to arrange protection for her."

Gene shook his head. "We'll 'ave to be careful. It might get back to Bevan's boys - "

He was interrupted by an appalling scream from the direction Jackie had taken.

**TBC**


	15. Return to the Jungle

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... you know the rest.**

**Thank you to everyone who's still following this story and especially to those who've reviewed. As I was cruel enough to end the last chapter with a horrible cliffhanger, I've updated as soon as I could! **

**If you like - or even if you don't - please, please review...**

Gene leapt to his feet, his gun already in his hand, and raced towards the screams, with Alex hard on his heels. They rounded a curve in the canal path, to find Jackie struggling desperately with a scruffy man in a leather jacket and jeans. A wicked-looking knife glittered in his hand, and she was bent over backwards, trying to shield the pushchair with her body.

"Not my baby, God, please, not my baby..."

"Police!" Gene bellowed. "Let 'er go or I fire!"

The man paused for a split second, and Alex saw the naked fear in his eyes. Fear, not of the armed bastard confronting him, but of the men who had made him do this thing, and how his failure would be punished. She was about to step forward to try to negotiate, but Jackie took advantage of his hesitation to pull herself free and deliver a vicious Glasgow kiss. He toppled backwards into the canal, stunned.

Alex rushed forward. "Guv! We've got to get him out!"

"Oh, I dunno about that." Gene stood, his arms folded, watching the man floundering in the water. "Give me one good reason why."

"Because he could drown, and then Jackie could face a manslaughter charge!"

"Oh, no, she won't." Gene was impassive. "We're the only witnesses. He slipped on the path while he was making a lunge for 'er."

"For God's sake, we can't let him drown!"

"Help!" The man had sunk and bobbed to the surface, his hands scrabbling futilely on the smooth, wet concrete of the embankment. "Can't swim - "

"'Course, we could always pull 'im out if 'e was prepared to tell us who put 'im up to this," Gene said thoughtfully. "Trying to slash a mother an' baby. What about it, bright boy?"

"Can't - " the man gasped. "They'd kill me - "

"Oh?" Gene glared down at his victim. "Strikes me you'll be killed one way or the other, any road. Y'see, Bolly," he added conversationally, "you know what they always say about drowning people. They come up three times before they drown. He's come up once already. Look, there's number two. Think 'e'll crack before number three?"

"Guv - " Alex was searching desperately for a lifebelt, but there was nothing to hand.

"Oh, well, looks like we'll 'ave to leave 'im - " Gene made to turn away.

"WARMAN!" the man screamed.

"Right." Gene snatched up a long branch and held it out. "Get 'old of this. Bolly, be ready to take 'is other 'and."

The man seized the branch as though it were a steel hawser, and Gene hauled him in, but even when Alex gripped his other hand, he could not get a foothold on the concrete.

"Bolly. Coil of rope in the boot of the Quattro. Keys in my pocket."

"Why didn't you say so before, you bastard?" Alex helped herself to the keys and fled.

Gut instinct made her keep her gun out as she raced up the steps to the road. As she had feared, in the failing light she saw someone bent over the car.

"Police! Freeze!"

The shadowy figure ran for it. She did not bother to pursue him. Jackie, Vicky and the man in the canal had to be their priorities. Keeping her gun ready, she approached the Quattro and saw that the tyres had been let down. Gene would not be a happy man.

She unlocked the boot, retrieved the rope, relocked the car, and ran back to the canal. Even with the rope, it was all she and Gene could do to lift their sodden captive out. Once he lay, panting, on the towpath, Gene cuffed him and tied the rope around his ankles for good measure.

"Right. You've just named DS Warman. Anyone else? Remember, we can always truss you up an' chuck you back if you don't cough up."

"Guv!" Alex protested.

"Warman," the man gasped. "He an' Merton nailed me for dealing. Said 'e'd let me off if I did this for 'im."

"_Anyone else?_"

The man knew when he was defeated. "Shelford. Witham."

"How do you know?"

"They were in Warman's car when 'e an' Merton rammed my head into the bonnet," the man moaned.

"Now, why would 'e do a nasty thing like that?"

"Because I wouldn't pay up!" the man howled. "Protection!"

"_Thank_ you!" Gene turned triumphantly to Alex, who was on her knees comforting the hysterical Jackie. "DS Barry Warman an' DCs Tony Merton, Charlie Shelford an' Alf Witham. Bevan's whole team. All up to their grimy little lug 'oles in extortion. We've got ourselves a witness. We'll take 'im to CID. If 'e goes anywhere near RCS he'll never be 'eard of again."

"I'm afraid we can't take him in the Quattro, Guv."

"Of course not! I'm not 'aving 'im dripping all over the upholstery! We'll radio for a squad car. Ask for DC Dave Ivens, CID, an' use my name. He used to be on my team."

"We can't use the Quattro anyway," Alex said patiently. "The tyres have been slashed."

"WHAT?" Gene shook his captive like a rat. "What do you know about this? Who hurt my bloody car?"

"Don't know," the man whimpered. "I was told, slash the journo bird an' 'er kid. They'll 'ave got someone else to do the car. Don't know who, I swear I don't."

While Gene relieved his feelings on his captive, Alex returned to the Quattro to retrieve the radio from the glove box and summon help from CID. She felt uneasy. It was growing ever darker, and she was deeply conscious that the shadows could conceal other attackers. If any of Bevan's team had picked up the mention of Gene's name and reached the towpath before CID, they could be in trouble. She made a point of keeping the radio with her when she returned to the towpath and mounted guard over Jackie and Vicky.

They waited for eleven anxious minutes before they heard cars drawing up and a door opening. Alex tightened her grip on her gun. But the thin, middle-aged man who descended the steps and approached them elicited a roar from Gene of "Ivens! Where 'ave you been, you stupid bastard?"

Ivens grinned. "It's good to see you again, too, Guv, an' all. Glen an' I responded as soon as we got the message. Thought it must be something tasty with a bird on the other end of the radio." He looked Alex admiringly. "Where did you spring from, then, darlin'?"

"Ivens, meet DI Drake, Metropolitan Police. Drake, meet the only armed bastard I've ever known who was stupid enough to get 'imself punched by DCI Litton." Gene hauled his captive to his feet. "Parcel delivery for you. This bloke's spilled enough beans to put some boys we know away for a long, long while."

Ivens was unabashed. "Yeah, haven't forgotten that fight." He rubbed his jaw. "Only time Litton was daft enough to take battle into CID. We showed 'im." He glanced down at Jackie, huddled on the ground, clinging to Vicky. "Bloody 'ell, what's the journo doing 'ere, Guv?"

"She was very nearly a victim of a knife attack," Alex said acidly. She noted that Ivens had not apologised to her.

"Right!" Gene rubbed his hands. "Let's get this lot back to CID. An' get a breakdown team out 'ere to replace the tyres on my motor!"

"No worries, Guv. Glen spotted that when we pulled up. He's radioed already." Ivens glanced at their dripping captive with distaste. "An' as a reward, 'e can take Wet Boy back to CID. Not 'aving 'im messing up _my_ car."

"We'll put 'im in your car, you cheeky sod. Drake, you take Jackie an' Vicky in the other car."

"Roger that, Guv." Alex was unfeignedly glad not to have to share a car with Ivens.

When they returned to road level, it was to find that the breakdown truck had arrived, and the other DC was supervising the loading of the Quattro onto it. She had wondered why Ivens's fellow DC appeared to be regarded as inferior to him, but now she understood. _A black detective, just like Dai Davies back at Fenchurch East. Just a minute, could this be - ?_

Gene's voice broke across her thoughts. "Fletcher? Long time no see. You back in CID?"

"Yes, Guv." The other man spoke quietly and with respect. _I was right_, Alex thought._ Glen Fletcher. He'll become Deputy Chief Constable and Sam's mentor. Like me, he's seen as an inferior now. We're both blazing trails. Times will change._ "I transferred back, shortly after you left." There was a short, awkward silence. "I heard about DI Tyler. I'm sorry, Guv."

"Yeah, so was I," Gene countered gruffly. "An' what sort of torture are you _daring_ to inflict on my car?"

"Just taking 'er to the garage to change the tyres, sir," one of the loading crew said briskly. "Can't drive 'er anywhere like this, all four 'ave been let down."

"I'm well aware of that," Gene said testily. "You can deliver 'er to the Regal 'otel on Princess Street when she's got 'er new wheels. Take care of 'er, that car's one classy lady."

_Typical Gene,_ Alex thought. _I'm a posh tart and the Quattro's a classy lady. Now I've got to seek equality with a bloody car. _ She could almost hear the breakdown team exchanging glances behind Gene's back as she helped Jackie and Vicky into Glen's car. She rode with them, while Gene took their captive in Ivens's car.

She had read Sam's description of the GMP building in 1973 so often, that she felt as though she had seen it already. Judging by Gene's look of discontent, she guessed that it must have undergone some modernisation since, but it was still as dark and gloomy as Sam had described it - even more so than Fenchurch East when Keats was devouring the electricity bill. She wondered, with a shudder, whether this place harboured any of Keats's confederates. _We'll have to check out DCI Cross while we're here._

"Wake up, Jakesey!" Ivens clapped the shoulder of the nondescript plod on the desk. "One wet toe-rag for the cells, an' guess who we've got 'ere? DCI Gene Hunt!"

The plod paled. "_The_ Gene Hunt?"

"Accept no imitations." Gene stood, his feet braced apart, his black coat hanging from his shoulders like a regal robe as he reclaimed his kingdom. The pale, dirty bulb above him shone down and turned his hair to gold. Alex was almost bursting with pride for him.

"S-s-ir." The plod seemed to shrivel, and rubbed his hands like Uriah Heep. Clearly the Hunt legend had not diminished in Gene's absence. "I, I'm afraid CID have all left for the night, except for DC Ivens here and DC Fletcher, but - "

"Lazy buggers," Gene pronounced. "Dump this soggy sod in Lost an' Found. Dave, we'll 'ave a little word with 'im when I've filled you in on the case. Fletcher, you get statements from the ladies."

Glen took Alex, Jackie and Vicky through to the dark, empty main office, switched a lamp on, and located a WPC to bring tea for the adults and hot milk for Vicky. Despite the gravity of the situation, Alex was fascinated to find herself in the place where Gene had been King of the Jungle, and where all Sam's adventures in the 1970s had happened. Looking around, she caught sight of the small, glazed cubicle which had been Gene's sanctum, and imagined him in the doorway, watching Sam as he blundered into the office on that first day.

_A word in your shell-like, pal..._

"Ma'am?" Glen's voice broke across her thoughts. "Is anything wrong?"

"Oh, no, not at all." She sat in the chair which he indicated to her. "I've heard so much about this place, it's amazing to see it at last. I knew DI Tyler," she added. "He told me so many stories about his work with DCI Hunt and his team."

Glen gave her a searching look. "Did he tell you about - me?"

"He did," she said warmly. "And he predicted that you'll go far."

Glen looked rueful. "I do, every time I get sent out to buy fish and chips for the team when we're working all night on a case."

"It'll get better, Glen, believe me."

"I hope so. I learned a lot from DI Tyler, though I didn't realise it at the time" he said earnestly. "Make it count. Be a good role model. I try, God knows I try. Because some day, another black kid might want to be a detective, and then he'll have me to look to." His voice lowered. "And I'll be able to teach 'em all about how not to kill their colleagues when the monkey jokes start." He raised his voice again. "Would you care to give me your statement, Ma'am?"

Remembering Gene's instruction on their "official" reason for being on the towpath, Alex's statement made it clear that she and Gene had met Jackie there by chance, and that the conversation had turned to Litton because they had told her that they were in Manchester for the hearing. She knew that she could rely on Jackie to give the full story on what Litton had said in the hospital and the threats she had received prior to the attack that evening, and she was confident that Gene would get their captive to talk. She noted with approval that Glen was quietly competent at his job, and took pains to make both women feel at ease. He was probably the only member of the GMP CID who would not make sexist remarks to female witnesses.

Once she had signed her statement, she cradled and comforted the sleepy Vicky while Jackie spoke to Glen. It gave her a sharp pang to hold another woman's child. _Molly, where are you now? What are you doing? Are you all right? How are you coping with my death? How long is it since I died in the real world? _Less than two months had passed since Jason's arrival, but she knew that the passing of time in real life might be very different.

By the time Jackie had finished, Gene had returned. Alex noticed that he was wiping blood from his hands and that his knuckles were bruised. She sighed inwardly. His return to his former stamping ground had prompted a return to old bad habits. But, remembering the sight of Jackie, unarmed, defending her daughter against a man with a knife, she had to acknowledge that the bastard deserved it.

"Finished 'ere?" Gene demanded briskly, rubbing his hands. He appeared to be studiedly ignoring his surroundings, but she caught him casting a brief, wistul glance at his old office. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel. Ivens an' Fletcher are doing the paperwork, an' Sharkey owes us dinner. An _you_," he fixed his cold blue eye on Jackie, "are coming with us."

"Thanks, Gene, but I can look after myself."

"Like buggery you can. One of Bevan's foot soldiers nearly got you an' Vicky today. You're in danger till the tribunal's over. Tomorrow, Bolly an' I will be spilling enough beans to keep Jack an' the Giant happy. You need police protection, an' that's us."

"But, Gene, we can't expect her to pay for a room at the Regal. It's so expensive."

"No need. We're in a suite with a sofa bed. Sharkey's minions can convert it for us. Come on."

As the Quattro was still under repair, Glen drove them back to the Regal. Gene's barked demand for the sofa to be converted, and for extra bedclothes, would probably have met with refusal if he had been any other guest, but Sharkey had plainly ordered his team to give Mr Hunt every assistance, and faintly grumbling staff members made up the bed with only a minimum of complaint. By common consent Alex ordered supper for the four of them from room service, and when she opened the door to the waiter, Gene, hiding behind an armchair, was covering the doorway with his gun.

"The tosser we arrested is Snorty Smith," he informed Alex and Jackie over supper. Vicky had dozed off in her pushchair. "Dealer near the bottom of the supply chain. Couldn't afford to pay Bevan's boys the going rate for protection, so they've been using 'im for their dirty work. The bastard who slashed the tyres got away, an' he'll 'ave told 'em by now that Snorty's been nicked. That's why it's not safe for you to be out, Jackie. They'll be desperate to keep their involvement from the tribunal, an' they might 'ave gone round to your place to get you there. Ivens is getting plod to watch your flat an' nick anyone who tries anything on."

"Thank you," Jackie said humbly. "So, how long are we stuck here? I'm meant to be at work tomorrow."

"Call in sick, or say Vicky's sick. Don't dare set foot out of 'ere, or we won't be answerable for your safety. If the tribunal calls you as a witness, Bolly or I will come to fetch you."

They all turned in early. Alex lent Jackie a spare nightdress, and Gene, much to the amusement of the women, lent Vicky one of his shirts, which engulfed her. Jackie and Vicky snuggled down together on the sofa bed, and Gene and Alex retired to the bedroom.

"We'll 'ave to make this the most silent shag in recorded 'istory," Gene grumbled as they got into bed. "Otherwise we'll wake the baby, an' Jackie'll put the whole story into tomorrow night's early edition."

"I daresay we'll manage." Alex cuddled close to him, and he wrapped his arm around her. "But will they be any safer after tomorrow, whatever the result? Finding more bad boys in Bevan's team may not do anything to persuade the tribunal that Litton's innocent."

"No," Gene agreed. "But Jackie can confirm that Litton told 'er someone was trying to bump 'im off, an' that they threatened 'er an' Vicky if she told anyone. Looks like that nurse who chased 'er away must 'ave tipped 'em off. They'd probably slipped 'er a bung to keep an eye on Litton's visitors an' report to them. An' Snorty's confirmed that Bevan's boys put 'im up to attacking Jackie an' Vicky today."

"The tribunal could think that the attempt on Litton might have been to stop him "confessing" to his knowledge of Bevan's doings." She waggled her fingers. "And Bevan's still a loose cannon."

"Yeah," Gene admitted. "A lot of it'll still depend on our testimony tomorrow. It comes down to us."

"To us," Alex echoed. "The guardians. Any idea which of us is likely to be called first?"

"You're the psychiatrist, you figure it out."

"Psychologist. Well..." She snuggled closer against him. "They're sexists, so they won't put ladies first."

"Bang on the money. They'll grill me, then try an' trip you up. But we'll be ready for 'em. We'd better get some sleep." He kissed her hair. "Need to be dewy-eyed in the morning."

"Not _quite_ yet," she pleaded in her best little-girl voice. Her hand wandered up and down his thigh. "Now, where were we?"

"You win, Bolly. You wi-oooaaargh…"

-oO0Oo-

The phone awakened them just after 7.00 the next morning. Gene, his hair standing on end and cursing volubly, reached across the bed to grab the receiver, inadvertantly pinning Alex down with the wire. She slid out from under, grabbed a robe, and nipped outside, just in time to see Jackie picking up the extension in one hand and a notebook in the other. She wordlessly held out her hand for the receiver and Jackie reluctantly handed it over, just in time for Alex to hear the beginning of the conversation. Jackie unashamedly moved close enough to overhear.

"Hunt 'ere, an' whatever tosser's ringing the reveille 'as just put 'is balls in the hole puncher," Gene snarled. "Seven o'clock shouldn't be allowed to exist!"

"Sorry, Sir, it's DC Glen Fletcher here. I thought you should know. There was an attempt to firebomb Miss Queen's flat last night."

"What 'appened?" Gene was instantly very still, and his voice was as grim as a morgue. Jackie recoiled and clapped her hand to her mouth.

"Dave told you last night, Sir, that he was putting two uniforms on watch. They were in a car, across the road from the flats. I thought it would be more effective to have someone undercover watching her front door, so I tagged along."

"Didn't you think you might be blowing the gaff on the whole operation, you muppet?" Gene snarled.

Glen's voice dropped into an "Uncle Tom" parody. "You know, sah, nobody notices a black bloke!" Alex winced. _But this is his defence mechanism. And it'll be thanks to him,and people like him, that the old racist attitudes will be swept away._ Glen resumed his normal voice and continued, "I wore my oldest clothes. There's a doorway to a boiler room diagonally opposite to Miss Queen's flat, so I curled up there, and anyone who saw me would think I was a tramp dossing down for the night.

"Around two-thirty, a man approached Miss Queen's door. He opened the letter box and poured something in from a can. He was being very careful to ensure that nothing spilled outside, so I guessed that it must be flammable. I saw him flick a lighter on, and he had something in his other hand. I challenged him. He dropped both items and ran for it. The lighter caught the other item he'd been holding, and it torched. We think it was cotton waste. Luckily next door had a doormat outside. I threw it over the blaze and stamped it out while I radioed to the uniform. We played hide and seek with the suspect for a good thirty minutes until PC Stanhope spotted him hiding in a rubbish bin, and we nailed him. The chase had woken up all the neighbours by that time. None of them knew him."

"Well done, Fletcher." Gene's voice was warm with approval. "What's the damage to Jackie's flat?"

Alex could almost hear the other man's shrug. "The hall's full of petrol, but it'll clean up. Burn marks on the concrete outside, and the paint on the front door blistered a bit. And she owes next door a new doormat. Could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah," Gene said heavily. "If the flat 'ad been torched, the whole block might 'ave gone up. A mother an' 'er kid were meant to be sleeping in that flat, an' the neighbours might 'ave had it, too. Garotting's too good for the bastard. What 'ave you done with him?"

"I questioned him as soon as we got him back to the station, Sir."

"And?"

"He started by refusing to say anything and tried to annoy me with a lot of monkey jokes. Then I got PS Evans to bring us some tea and he sat in with me."

"Snowdonia Evans?"

"That's right, Sir, the Welsh mountain."

"I remember 'im," Gene said reflectively. "Stands seven feet by seven. One man battering ram. Size eighteen boots. Can control a crowd of football fans single 'anded."

"That's him, Sir. All he had to do was sit there and smile at the suspect. After five minutes the suspect lost his nerve, and I got the whole story."

"Spill."

"Name's Robbie Braddon. He'd been nicked for taking and driving away, but DS Warman promised to lose the paperwork if he'd do a job for him. Yesterday he got a phone call from Warman, telling him to follow Miss Queen. He's confessed to being the one who let your tyres down."

"Bastard."

"He reported back to Warman that Snorty had been nicked, and Warman told him to torch the flat. He was scared, but he was told the paperwork would reappear if he didn't do it. He's engaged to be married, and he's just got a job. He was afraid he'd lose it for not disclosing a criminal record."

"He'll lose it anyway. Attempted murder an' arson. _An'_ letting the Quattro's tyres down."

"I've already charged him, Sir. I'll give my Guv, DCI Armstrong, a full report when he comes in, but I thought you'd better know first." He hesitated. "Our Super, Oldaker, is on the tribunal panel today. The one you're attending."

"Pro or anti DCI Litton?"

"I really couldn't say, Sir. But I'll emphasise to my Guv, the importance of updating the Super about the gravity of the allegations against DS Warman and his team, before the hearing begins. He's a good Guv, Sir, he'll do his best."

"Good man. Ta for the update. We'll talk later." He hung up, got out of bed, grabbed a robe, and strode outside just as Alex was hanging up the extension phone. Jackie had sunk onto the sofa bed and was holding the sleeping Vicky very close.

"Take it you're not still considering goin' in to work today?" he said coldly to Jackie.

"N-n-no." Jackie was trying very hard not to break down. "Vicky, oh, God, they'd have killed Vicky as well as me."

"And your neighbours. Bastards want to be shut in a burning flat with the door an' windows nailed shut an' the phone wires cut. Right. Unless you want barbecued baby on today's menu - "

"_Gene!_" Alex remonstrated, shocked. Jackie threw him a tearful glare.

"You're staying 'ere. We'll order grub for you before we go, an' after that you'll keep the door locked. Open only to me or Bolly. Or Fletcher," he added as an afterthought. "If anyone else 'as to come to take you to the hearing, one of us'll ring to let you know. Bols, get dressed an' get the warpaint on. You an' me 'ave got 'orses to frighten today."

When Alex strolled out of the bedroom, attired for the fray, Jackie's jaw dropped with an audible click and Gene's eyes nearly started from his head. She had forsaken her usual jacket and jeans in favour of a black two-piece suit with a pencil skirt so slim that it outlined every curve of her delightful derrière, with a slit at the back so high that Gene secretly vowed to walk behind her all day. She had teamed it with a cream satin blouse with a V neck, accentuated by wide lapels, while the gold chain, which she had never taken off since Christmas Day, glittered seductively in the valley of bare skin.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols, you planning to give the tribunal 'eart attacks?"

She twirled for his inspection. "Well, I did think that I'd better wear something more formal than my working clothes."

"Dunno about formal, they won't be able to think of anything but your tits an' arse, as soon as you walk into the room."

"Which is precisely why I'm dressed like this. I'm a feminist and I hate doing it, but I know that any means to distract one's enemy is worth gold. And today isn't about me, it's about Litton."

"Well said." Gene was breathing heavily. "But if you accept any dinner dates or offers of drinks from those lecherous, depraved, fossilised old farts, I'll 'ave you on paperwork for a month."

"Perish the thought, Guv."

"Just tell me one thing, Bols - tights or stockings under that lot?"

She gave him her best "C or D cup?" look. "Well, Guv, if you're very good today, or very, _very _bad, you might just get to find out."

She sashayed out. With a mutter of "Give me strength," Gene grabbed his coat and followed.

Jackie grinned as she closed and locked the door behind them.

"Have fun, Gene."

-oO0Oo-

Gene was pleased to discover that the Quattro, complete with new tyres, was awaiting them in the hotel's valeted car park, but he did not let his pleasure at the reunion stop him checking out every part of the car to make sure that nothing had been tampered with. Greatly to his and Alex's relief, all was well.

On their arrival at the GMP headquarters, they found Glen awaiting them outside with a chunky man in a slightly raffish but perfectly respectable suit and a camel coat only slightly less lairy than the one which Gene had given to Jackie.

"Mr Hunt! Sir!" Glen waved to attract their attention, and they came over to him. "This is my Guv, DCI Armstrong. Guv, this is DCI Gene Hunt and DI Alex Drake. I worked briefly for DCI Hunt when he was with GMP."

"Hunt," Gene barked, holding out his hand. The other man shook it warmly. Alex saw Gene react to his touch, but he concealed it well.

"John Armstrong." He shook Alex's hand, looking her up and down appreciatively. She felt nothing unusual. "Pleasure to meet you both, especially you, DCI Hunt. You're a living legend at GMP. I can tell you, it's a great responsibility to live up to my illustrious predecessor." He led Gene aside, and Alex and Glen followed.

"I wanted you to know that Fletcher 'ere an' DC Ivens have given me a full update of last night's arrests and the allegations made against certain of our colleagues," Armstrong said quietly to Gene. "I fully appreciate the effect that this may have upon the case being heard today, and I've briefed Superintendent Oldaker. He's told us to pull in Warman and 'is team for questioning, an' if they crack, I'll see to it that the tribunal's informed, an' I'll brief up DCI Cross as well."

"The D an' C bloke. Ta."

Armstrong grinned. "Think nothing of it. I want to see justice done."

"So do we all." Gene regarded him thoughtfully. "So, 'ow long 'ave you been 'ere, Armstrong?"

"Since you decamped to London Town. No accountin' for taste." Armstrong laughed hugely.

"D'you like it 'ere?"

"Oh, yes. I love this city. Its mess. Its noise. Prozzies. Drunks. Stray dogs, little old men. Rest of this country couldn't give a threepenny bit about this town. The orphans take whoever they can get to look after them. That's me." Alex saw Gene silently responding. _ Those are the very words he used to Sam, after they fought around Vera's hospital bed. _"Mind you, we do things differently 'ere to where I was posted last."

"An' where was that?"

"Hyde."

Alex silently gasped, and a long look of almost-recognition passed between the two men. The moment was broken by a radio spluttering in Armstrong's pocket. He grabbed it.

_"Guv? Stan 'ere. Blag at Roberts' fancy goods warehouse, Shudehill!"_

"On our way. Round up Connie an' Hill, an' meet us there." He stuffed the radio into his pocket. "Duty calls. Maybe see you for a jar before you head 'ome? Fletcher, with me." He and Glen raced over to a gleaming bronze Volkswagen Golf, and leapt in. The car tore away as though propelled by a catapult.

Alex glanced at Gene, who was watching the car as it vanished into the distance. "Guardian?" she mouthed silently.

"Looks like it." He nodded slightly. "But 'e doesn't know, just like I didn't 'til Keats got you digging up the past." She flinched. "I knew there was something about 'im, as soon as he shook my 'and. But then when 'e said where 'e'd come from - "

"Hyde. One of us. But _I_ didn't come from Hyde," Alex objected.

"Maybe it's because you're a Londoner." There was a slight edge of contempt to Gene's voice. Back on his home turf, she detected a return of the attitude that he must have harboured towards the South while he was with GMP. "But for Sam, _an'_ for Morgan, it was Hyde. I'll 'ave to try an' find out where DCI Cross comes from. Don't know yet if he's one of Keats's boys or a real D an' C bloke." He glanced at his watch. "Come on. The hearing starts in fifteen minutes. Any longer an' they'll be sending out a search party for us."

**TBC**


	16. Tribunal

**A/N: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes. Alas.**

**Once again, many apologies for the length of time since the last update. I've been up to my ears in music reviews, not to mention working overtime while my department had a nasty case of the auditors! **

**I have no knowledge of how police disciplinary tribunals operated in 1984, when this chapter is set. According to the Regulatory Law website, current tribunal rules, which date from 2008, "set out a 3 stage meeting process each with a right of appeal" but that the matter "may proceed directly to the third stage", a tribunal "drawn from [a] panel of senior officers and members of human resources". For the purposes of this story, Litton's case has proceeded directly to Stage 3.**

**Just so you know...**

**Please review - it might encourage me to update faster, hint, hint... **

Once Gene and Alex had reported to the front desk, now occupied by Snowdonia Evans, they were escorted to a corridor outside a meeting room on the top floor of the building. Alex could not help wondering whether this was the room which Sam would leave in 2007, to leap to his death from the roof. Shortly afterwards they were taken to a small room nearby and told to wait. Gene deliberately left the door open so that, a few minutes later, they could see the tribunal panel filing past, followed shortly by a pale, haggard Litton and a man whom they presumed to be his lawyer - not Merrick, Gene noticed with relief - and shortly afterwards by Hardwick, escorted by a WPC whom he was ogling in an entirely predictable manner. They had already guessed that he would be the first witness to be called.

They had already agreed that they would not talk in case they could be overheard. They were brought tea and biscuits - Gene demanded Garibaldis and, greatly to his disgust, was told that only Rich Tea or digestives were available - "Place 'as gone to the dogs since I left 'ere, Bols" - but otherwise there was nothing to do but stare out of the window or look at a newspaper. About half an hour later, they saw Hardwick being escorted out of the room. He saw Gene in passing, winked, and gave a discreet thumbs-up. A few minutes later, the WPC appeared in the doorway to summon Gene. He did not give Alex a backward glance as he was led away.

A long table, occupied by the three panel members, stood at the centre of the room. At a small table to the left, two WPCs, acting as stenographers, typed frantically, and at a table to the right, Litton sat with his lawyer. The man looked as nervous as a cat and twisted his hands constantly.

Gene was shown to a chair facing the three panel members, none of whom were known to him.

"Good morning, DCI Hunt." The thin, silver-haired man in the centre reminded Gene uncomfortably of Rathbone. "I am Detective Chief Superintendent Maddison of Greater Manchester Police, and these are my colleagues, Detective Superintendent Oldaker, B Division, and Detective Superintendent Fulmer of Personnel. Thank you for joining us today."

"Good morning, Sir." Gene's words were respectful, but his tone and his body language gave nothing away.

"Purely as a formality, I am obliged to remind you that although you will not be under oath, witnesses at disciplinary tribunals are required to tell the truth."

"The whole truth an' nothing but the truth. Of course, Sir."

"As you will be aware, the charges against DCI Litton were preferred by DCI Keats of the Metropolitan Police Discipline and Complaints. We have been informed that he is not available to attend this tribunal - "

"That's correct, Sir. Disappeared in mysterious circumstances less than a week after Litton's arrest and hasn't been 'eard of since." Gene knew that he was interrupting, but he was not going to lose the chance to make his point.

" - but he has supplied briefing to DCI Cross of GMP Discipline and Complaints," Maddison continued, as though Gene had not spoken.

_I bet he did, the little rat._ Suddenly Gene was aware of another person in the room, sitting at a small table at the back. A small, rodent-like individual who sat taking notes, his movements as quiet as dust. Gene's every hackle rose. _Another of Keats's mob. Another repulsive D&C bastard. _With difficulty, he drew his attention back to the matter in hand.

"DCI Litton and DI Bevan came to Fenchurch East CID on 23 November last, is that correct?"

"It is, Sir, an' DCI Keats informed myself an' my team that they would be sharing our office an' that we were to give them any resources that they needed."

"You were informed of the reason for their visit?"

"We were, Sir."

"Did you consider it plausible?"

Gene replied with care. "I found it surprising that a DCI an' a DI from Manchester should find it necessary to chase a washed-up blue comic all the way to London on a theft charge. A case like that might 'ave been delegated to junior colleagues in their own force, or even passed to the Met. But I accepted that Hardwick's alleged offence was something that any police officer might 'ave taken personally."

"The alleged theft from the police widows' fund?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Were you aware that DCI Litton was anxious to frame Mr Hardwick for a more serious offence?"

_Bugger._ "I was aware that he was anxious to find out whether Hardwick was guilty of anything more serious than the theft."

"How would you describe your working relationship with DCI Litton?"

"We don't 'ave one. We've butted heads when we couldn't avoid meeting each other."

"Was that why you set out to arrest Mr Hardwick before DCI Litton could do so?"

"That, an' because I didn't trust Litton to get the job done 'imself. I wanted 'im out of my office, the sooner the better."

"Your team and his converged on The Laughter Place in pursuit of Mr Hardwick. When Mr Hardwick was brought out of the club under arrest, someone fired at him from the roof, wounding Richard Travers, who subsequently died of his injuries." Maddison looked at the file. "DI Carling subsequently filed a report stating his suspicion that the gunman was DI Bevan, and stated that DI Bevan pressured him while he was writing it. I understand that DI Carling is not available to give testimony?"

Gene gritted his teeth. "No, Sir. He was killed in another shoot-out only a few days later, on 27 November."

"What about DC Skelton, who was also with you that day?"

"In witness protection as a result of the same incident, Sir."

Fulmer, the Personnel man, spoke up for the first time. "Really, DCI Hunt, members of your team do seem to be very unlucky. First poor DI Tyler drowned, then you lost Carling, Skelton and WDC Granger all at once, and in between there was that shooting incident with DI Drake."

Gene recognised the attempt to make him lose his temper. _Once upon a time I'd have flown off the handle without stopping to think. It must be the Bolly effect._ "I apologise if you think that that affects the quality of my testimony, Sir." _And why should you_ _bring that up, unless it's because Cross has briefed you?_

"Not at all, not at all." Maddison spread his hands in a placatory gesture. "But you'll appreciate that it makes our work harder when so many witnesses are unavailable."

"Including DCI Keats, Sir. He vanished a few days afterwards, shortly after 'e was implicated in a riot at Fenchurch Prison. A police officer was killed as a result of 'is actions and two others, Carling an' Skelton, barely escaped with their lives."

"Quite so. However, although DCI Keats called for this tribunal, it is being handled by GMP Discipline and Complaints."

_Bugger. There goes our hope of questioning the tribunal's legality. Maddison doesn't want to play ball._

"To resume," Maddison continued. "Where was DCI Litton during the shoot-out outside The Laughter Place?"

"Right beside me, Sir, an' aiming at the gunman on the roof."

"At his own officer?"

"The gunman 'ad ducked out of sight by then, Sir."

Maddison consulted the file again. "Mr Hardwick was arrested and taken to Fenchurch East, but then released without charge, even though you knew that DCI Litton and DI Bevan wished to charge him with the robbery. Why did you do this?"

Gene had to hope that Hardwick had told them the truth. "DI Drake an' I interviewed 'im, an' 'e was too scared to talk. From what 'e did say, it was clear that 'e was afraid of someone in the station. Couldn't be anyone on my team, he'd only just met us, so we guessed it 'ad to be Litton or Bevan. He 'ad nowhere to run, not even any place to stay, so Drake let 'im walk on condition that we met up on neutral ground later on, an' 'e'd spill then."

"Wasn't that somewhat unorthodox practice?"

"DI Drake's an unorthodox officer, Sir, but on this occasion it worked. Hardwick met us at 10pm that night on Brandon Street as agreed. But as 'e approached us, a Transit van came belting down the road an' headed straight for us. It didn't even stop when I fired at the windscreen. It was a deliberate attempt to run us down."

"Did you see the registration number?"

"No, Sir, the headlights obscured it. What I could see very clearly, was that there was only one person in the van. The street lights were shining through behind the driver."

"Could you identify the driver?"

"I couldn't see the face, Sir. The lights threw it into shadow."

"Might it have been DCI Litton?"

_You insinuating bastard. _"No, sir, it wasn't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I saw very clearly that the driver was extremely tall, Sir. Couldn't possibly 'ave been a scrawny little runt like Litton." He could almost hear Litton breathing rank poison.

"And DI Bevan is very tall."

"My point, Sir."

Maddison looked at his notes. "Mr Hardwick's account of the incident does not mention this."

"It wouldn't, Sir. Drake an' Hardwick 'ad their backs to the oncoming vehicle while she was leading 'im away. I faced the Transit to fire on it an' cover their escape."

"I see." Maddison looked at the file. "Describe the allegations subsequently made to you by Mr Hardwick."

"He told Drake and myself that he had heard about a bunch of coppers on DCI Litton's patch, who were roughing up the dealers and pimps, extorting protection money."

"He named DCI Litton?"

"He didn't give any names, Sir, only that the offences were taking place on Litton's patch. He had witnessed a police officer administering a fatal beating to David Townsend. Fearing for 'is life, 'e came south, only to find that the killer 'ad followed 'im. He didn't even know the killer's name at that time, but he saw 'im at Fenchurch East with Litton. He identified 'im as DI Bevan."

"As the murderer of David Townsend?"

"Yes, Sir."

"So, why did you not arrest DI Bevan outright?"

"Because I wanted Bevan to come into the open of 'is own accord, an' I wanted to find out whether DCI Litton was involved." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Litton tense. Cross looked like a jackal who had been thrown a crate of pork chops. "We received word from the hospital next morning that Rick Travers had died. We set a trap for Bevan by letting 'im believe that Travers was alive an' about to identify the gunman. Our cover was blown when Litton heard us talking on our radios, an' we confronted 'im with Hardwick's evidence on Townsend's murder."

"Did DCI Litton confess his involvement?"

"No, Sir. He was shocked. He had known that 'is team were keeping the bastards on 'is patch in line, but 'e swore that he knew nothing about extortion or murder."

"And you believed him?" Maddison exuded well-bred surprise.

"Going against the habit of a lifetime, yes, Sir, I did," Gene said simply. "If Litton was guilty of anything, it was trusting 'is team too far an' letting them go their own way too much. If 'e'd kept a tighter rein on 'em, 'e could 'ave stopped the rot. But, with respect, Sir, any one of us might find themselves betrayed by someone we'd always 'ad reason to trust absolutely. There but for the grace of God." The look of gratitude on Litton's face made him want to throw up. Cross looked like a jaguar who had unexpectedly been told that it had been placed on an indefinite vegetarian diet. "An' once Litton knew the score with Bevan, he gave us every assistance. He set Bevan up to come to the police gala the following evening at which Hardwick was appearing, and helped us to trap 'im. He also saved Hardwick's life. He had the foresight to give 'im a bullet proof vest."

Oldaker spoke for the first time. "Might he not have assisted you so as to cover up his own involvement in the extortion racket?"

_Armstrong and Fletcher have already briefed him on last night's arrests and the allegations Jackie, Snorty and Braddon have made against Bevan and his team. _Gene spoke carefully in case Oldaker was trying to catch him out. "He might 'ave, Sir, but if he 'ad anything to 'ide, I think he'd 'ave tipped Bevan off an' got 'im to flee the country to avoid arrest, to save 'imself from getting asked any awkward questions. Once 'e knew he'd been betrayed, he worked with us to bring the traitor to justice."

The tribunal members were too experienced to show their feelings, but their astonishment hung silently in the air like a visible thing. Gene knew that his long-running feud with Litton had been the talk of GMP for years, and that the tribunal must have been expecting him to seize the opportunity to bring down his old adversary. His magnanimity was so far from what they had expected, that there was a short, shocked silence while they collected their thoughts.

Oldaker recovered first. "You are aware of the arrests which took place last night and the allegations which have been made against DI Bevan and members of his team."

"Could 'ardly fail to be, Sir, given that I made one of the arrests an' questioned the suspect. Total surprise. DI Drake an' I met up with an old acquaintance an' 'er baby daughter, never dreamt we'd be saving 'em from a knifeman. Jackie Queen's a journalist, she was involved in the siege at the _Gazette_ offices in 1973. One of the times Litton an' I worked together. She told me that she'd visited Litton when 'e was in hospital lately, an' that she'd subsequently received anonymous phone calls threatening both 'er an' 'er daughter if she didn't keep away from 'im. Smith, the man who attacked 'er yesterday, claimed under questioning that 'e was blackmailed into doing the job by members of Bevan's team. There was an attempt to firebomb 'er flat last night. Luckily she wasn't at 'ome, an' Fletcher, one of your DCs, was on the ball an' stopped the place going up like an oil well. The firebomber also claimed to 'ave been forced into the job by members of Bevan's team."

_Right, you bastards, bang goes any chance of sweeping that pile of shit under the carpet. It'll be in the records of the tribunal now._

"You are implying that Miss Queen was threatened and subsequently attacked because she had spoken to DCI Litton?" Maddison took up the tale again.

"_I'm_ not _implying_, Sir. That's what 'er statement, an' the statements of the toerags who attacked 'er, say in black an' white."

_Point made._ He saw the three tribunal members exchanging thoughtful glances. Clearly they would have plenty to say to one another, once he had left the room. He decided to risk adding, "If you feel that you need to speak to 'er, gentlemen, she was too scared to go back 'ome after last night's events. She's staying at the Regal Hotel in Princess Street. DC Fletcher 'as the details."

"Thank you, DCI Hunt," Maddison said urbanely. "Tell us, have the events of last night in any way influenced your view of what occurred in London before DCI Litton and DI Bevan were arrested?"

"Can't say they did, Sir. DCI Litton's a prat, but 'e remains an innocent prat." He saw Litton's expression verge upon the murderous and the tribunal relaxing visibly. This Hunt/Litton guerilla warfare was much more what they were used to.

"I see. Thank you, DCI Hunt, that will be all for the moment. Please wait outside in case we need to recall you."

Gene returned to the waiting room to find Alex being enthusiastically talked to by Frank Hardwick, who was absorbing a cup of tea and a soggy digestive, and was sitting far closer to her than Gene liked.

"Guv." She looked unreservedly pleased to see him. "Have they finished with you?"

"Got to wait in case I'm recalled. Look sharp, you'll be on next."

Sure enough, less than a minute later the WPC came to summon Alex, leaving Gene alone with Hardwick. It was not a situation which either of them relished, but Hardwick did his nervous best to make conversation.

"Good to see you again, Mr Hunt." Plainly he had decided to forget being pinned against the wall of the interview room. "Chance to nail these bastards at last, eh?"

"This tribunal is about exonerating an innocent man," Gene said coldly. "Trying the bastards comes later, Max Wall."

"Of course, of course," Hardwick muttered, abashed. "But you've got more evidence now, haven't you? A passing copper was talking to the lovely DI Drake about some arrests last night, and I'm _sure_ I heard the unsavoury DI Bevan mentioned."

"Unsavoury? Beside you, Bevan's a candlelit dinner as compared to a curry at the greasy spoon," Gene retorted with distaste. "But if you're a good witness, I'll try to forgive you. How's life treating you, you poor man's Bernard Manning?"

Hardwick shrugged. "Got a coupla telly appearances and a few gigs out of the publicity from the gala and Bevan's arrest, but now it's all dried up again. Nine day wonder, that's me. Still, I've bounced back before, and I will again. Maybe the publicity from Bevan's trial'll help."

Seeing the man's bloodshot eyes and shaking hand, and the long pull he took from a hip flask, Gene wondered how many more times Hardwick would be able to "bounce back". The terrors of his flight from Manchester and his brushes with death while Bevan pursued him, had clearly affected him more than he would admit.

"Sir?" The WPC on escort duty approached. "Might I have a word, please?" Gene nodded, rose, and followed her into the corridor. As he closed the door behind him, he saw Hardwick leering and winking at her.

"The tribunal want to call Miss Jackie Queen as a witness," she told him. "You've informed them that she's staying at the Regal Hotel, but when I attempted to reach her there by phone, she wouldn't speak to me. Said she would only talk to you or DI Drake, or to DC Fletcher."

"That's right. I told 'er to, in case anyone tried to get at 'er to stop 'er testifying. There's been two attempts on 'er life in the past twenty-four hours. Send Fletcher to pick 'er up, she knows 'im."

"I can't, Sir," the WPC said meekly. "He's out on a shout."

"Bugger." He looked about him. "Look, they're talking to Drake now. Who's on after 'er?"

"They plan to talk to DCI Cross next. He's deputising for DCI Keats, Sir."

"Yeah, I know. Right. I'll go an' get Jackie. My car's outside. If Drake comes out before I'm back, tell 'er where I've gone, an' tell Hardwick keep 'is paws to 'imself unless 'e fancies instant amputation."

"I'll tell him that on my own account, Sir," the WPC said drily.

-oO0Oo-

Alex had gauged her audience well. When she walked into the room, swaying her hips only very slightly more than strictly necessary, she heard the tribunal members gasp. Only the little man sitting at the back appeared to be unmoved, but she saw his eyes burning like hot coals. _He'll be the D&C man for sure. I'll have to watch out for him._

Maddison greeted her and made the introductions with only a slight tremor in his voice, but she could almost hear the sweat breaking out on his forehead. She favoured them all with her most dazzling smile, and saw Fulmer nervously fingering his collar.

_Right, now I've got them all so flustered they can hardly think, I'll plant my persona. Whatever Gene's been saying about my professional abilities, they'll be thinking of me as eye candy. For the moment, I'll let them. They'll be using me to check Gene's story, and they'll hope to find inconsistencies. _

"DI Drake." Maddison was speaking, and appeared to be having some difficulty in finding his place among his papers. She noticed that his eyes were riveted to her neckline.

"Sir?" She was at her most winsome.

"Could, er, could you tell us what happened when DCI Litton and, er, DI, er, Bevan arrived at Fenchurch East station on 23 November last?"

"Certainly," she replied sweetly. "DCI Hunt, myself and two other officers were in the middle of a stakeout to catch three suspects in possession of a vanload of prime porn." On the last word, she daintily crossed her legs, giving the tribunal a decorous flash of knee. Oldaker poured himself a glass of water with an unsteady hand. "One of them ran for it, just as DCI Litton's car came around the corner. DCI Litton cut off his escape route and enabled us to arrest him. It was really _very _fortunate." She shifted slightly in her seat, swinging one high-heeled foot, and Fulmer nearly knocked his tea over. "He and DI Bevan returned with us to the station, and that was when they explained that they had come to London in pursuit of Frank Hardwick, who was suspected of stealing two thousand pounds from the Police Widows' Fund. DCI Keats, whom I believe is known to DCI Cross," she nodded gracefully in his direction, "instructed us to give them whatever resources they needed."

"Did you believe their story?"

Alex shrugged her shoulders. The elegant movement made her gold chain ripple, and she was sure that she could hear someone groan. _God, how do the WPCs up here put up with it? _"It seemed unlikely, but I investigated Hardwick's background along with WPC Granger, who shortly afterwards was promoted to DC." It might have been safer not to mention Shaz, but she felt a need to record the girl's good work on the case. It was a small memorial to her.

"Why did you and WPC Granger go to The Laughter Place to arrest Mr Hardwick when DCI Hunt, DCI Litton and their teams were already on their way there?"

Alex had expected that question, and had already decided how to answer it so as conceal the fact that Gene, as well as Litton, had hoped to frame Hardwick. "Because I knew that Mr Hardwick is fond of the fair _sex._" She leaned ever so slightly on the last word, and Maddison had some difficulty in breathing. "If he had seen big _male _coppers coming his way, he would have run for it, but a couple of _ladies_ could approach him unsuspected." She gave a tinkling laugh. "It worked. When he saw me, he asked if I was the main course." To judge by the expressions on the three faces in front of her, they all wished that she had been _their_ main course.

"When, um, you escorted Mr Hardwick out of The Laughter Place, a gunman started firing from the roof. You did not see him?"

"No, Sir, I was trying to protect Mr Hardwick." Alex allowed her tone to sound more clipped and professional. _Time to get the gloves off. _"He was convinced that the shots were intended for him."

"And yet, shortly after arresting Mr Hardwick, you released him." Oldaker took over. "Surely a very irresponsible thing to do, if he was convinced that his life was in danger."

"He was convinced that his life was in danger _from the police_, sir," Alex retorted, with a crispness which knocked the tribunal back in their seats. "And DCI Litton and DI Bevan had requested to have him transferred to their custody. It was not clear to me at that point _why_ Mr Hardwick believed that he was in danger, but it was clear to me that if we were to get him to tell us what he knew, it would have to be on neutral ground. I therefore released him, _as a protected witness_, and he agreed to meet DCI Hunt and myself that night."

"Which was when a Transit van tried to run him down?" Oldaker had survived the onslaught with less discernible damage than his colleagues.

"That's correct, Sir. DCI Hunt covered us while I took Mr Hardwick to safety. Once we had got him to a safe house, he told us what he knew about police beating and and extorting money from drug dealers and pimps, and how he had witnessed the murder of David Townsend."

"Did he name DCI Litton?"

"That's a leading question, Sir," Alex informed him sweetly. "He stated that the offences were taking place in DCI Litton's area, but not that DCI Litton was involved. The murderer was the one whom he called "Litton's man" - DI Bevan."

"Why did you and DCI Hunt not go to DCI Litton straight away?"

"Because if we had, it might have alerted DI Bevan that we were on to him, and we needed to know whether DCI Litton was involved or had been duped by his own DI." Alex was now as crisp as a starched collar. "We split them up and confronted DCI Litton with Mr Hardwick's evidence. He was utterly shocked and horrified."

"Did he admit to his involvement?"

"No, Sir, he did not. What he actually said was, "Bevan's crossed the line. I thought they were just roughing up the slimeballs, keeping them in line. But not for money. And never murder." He said that Bevan had betrayed him as well as us."

"DI Drake." Fulmer sounded positively fatherly in his concern. "Don't you think it possible that such a ruthless and clever man as DCI Litton might have deceived you with a show of pretended innocence?"

"I'm a psychologist, Sir." Alex sat up, as straight as a ramrod, and she sounded as though she had never batted an eyelash in her life. "And I would not go so far as to describe DCI Litton as _clever_. I saw a man who was too stunned by the discovery that he had been betrayed by his own right-hand man, a man whom he trusted absolutely, to be able to pretend. I have been trained to analyse body language - " she was serious now, but those two words made the tribunal ripple like a field of corn - "and everything about him told me that he had just received the shock of his life. DCI Litton is guilty of placing his trust in an evil man, but he is not guilty of that man's crimes."

"I must ask you not to pre-judge the findings of the tribunal, DI Drake," Maddison said sternly, yet he could not help but sound impressed. Litton's expression veered between gratitude and unspeakable outrage, just as she had intended.

"My apologies, Sir." Alex inclined her head gravely.

"And after you and DCI Hunt had confronted DCI Litton with the evidence?"

"He helped us. He told DI Bevan that Mr Hardwick had been released and given immunity in return for future intelligence, and tipped him off that Mr Hardwick would be appearing at a police gala that night. As we all expected, Bevan made his move at the gala, and we were able to arrest him. A case well ended - until DCI Litton was arrested."

"I see. Thank you, DI Drake, that will be all for now." Maddison spoke firmly, but his colleagues looked very disappointed. "Please wait outside in case we need to recall you."

"Thank you, gentlemen." Alex inclined her head courteously, rose from her seat and walked to the door, conscious that every male eye in the room was on her arse and the split in her skirt. Closing the door behind her, she was sure that the temperature in the room must have dropped by at least ten degrees on her departure.

-oO0Oo-

"Jackie? Open up, you daft bint! It's me!"

The lock turned, the door opened a crack, and Jackie's tired face appeared in the gap. "Gene?"

"Who else, you silly cow? Let me in!" She opened the door, and he stepped inside. "Everything OK?"

"Yes." Jackie looked exhausted. "Oh, God, when I heard the knock at the door, I was so afraid that it might be Bevan's men."

"Not bloody likely. They've been arrested, an' they're being questioned right now. Get your coat, the tribunal wants a word with you. You've got a police escort. Me."

"But what about Vicky?"

"We'll take 'er with us. They won't want to talk to Drake an' you at the same time, so she can babysit while you're being grilled." He wasn't sure whether Alex would appreciate the possibility of Vicky peeing, pooing or puking all down her immaculate suit, but he would have to rely on her maternal instincts, and he was buggered if he would be left holding the baby himself.

By the time he returned to the station with Jackie and Vicky, Alex had emerged from the tribunal room and, not having received the message from the WPC, was very concerned to find Gene absent. Fortunately Hardwick was on hand to update her on events. She noticed that he was nervously keeping his distance, and guessed that Gene had issued him with a warning before his departure.

They were sitting together in an uneasy silence when Gene and the girls arrived.

"Well, Drake, an' 'ow went it?"

"I think at least some of the tribunal members may be able to walk in a straight line by the time they leave the room," Alex replied demurely, and both Hardwick and Jackie chuckled.

"An' what did they ask you?"

"Much the same things as they asked you, I suspect." She decided not to be specific with Hardwick and Jackie around. "They wanted to check whether our stories match up. DCI Cross is saying his piece now."

"Yeah. Using Jimbo's report." Both silently thanked their stars that Gene had found that carbon copy among Keats's papers. At least they knew what to expect from that. What they could not know, was what spin Cross might place upon Keats's words.

Jackie was summoned in shortly afterwards. As Alex had already feared, Vicky soon became fractious and tearful without her mother, but much to everyone's surprise Hardwick proved to be a Godsend. He caught the crying child's attention and enthralled her by tying his handkerchief into the shape of a white rabbit and telling her stories about it. When that palled, he fished a piece of string from his pocket and taught her to play cats-cradle, and did simple magic tricks with coins, handkerchiefs and string. Even Gene could not help but be impressed to see how Hardwick cleaned up his act for his juvenile audience.

"I didn't think you'd be so good with children, Frank," Alex admitted, after Vicky had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

"Had three of my own," he admitted. "I used to do kids' parties when they were young. Whole different world from the club and variety circuit."

"Evening, all. Anyone know what's going on?" Armstrong breezed into the room with another man at his heels, followed by a WPC carrying a stack of files. "Bloody 'ell, 'as this place turned into a crêche or a comedy club?"

"Neither," Gene retorted gruffly. "The kid's Jackie Queen's, she's giving 'er evidence now. An' this tosser's Frank Hardwick."

"Yeah, seen you on telly," Armstrong said dismissively. "Right, I've got news for the tribunal boys. DI Hill 'ere got to work on Bevan's team while Fletcher an' I mopped up the Shudehill blag, and when we got back we all piled in. Hill 'ad gone straight for the soft underbelly, otherwise known as Alf Witham, an' I got to work on Shelford. Hill's our psychologist. He 'ad the bright idea of us each making 'em think the other bloke 'ad talked, an' they both cracked. Then we confronted Merton with their confessions an' the statements from Snorty an' Braddon, an' 'e caved in like the San Andreas Fault. Warman's still 'olding out, but we've got enough evidence on the lot of 'em to send them an' Bevan into the slammer until 2012."

"Any of 'em mention Litton?" Gene said cautiously.

"Nope. All independent accounts agree they kept 'im out of it 'cos they were scared 'e'd put a stop to it an' report them. The buck stops with Bevan."

"Brilliant." Gene shone with satisfaction. "I was right first go, wasn't I, Bols?"

"Just as you said, he's a prat, but he's an innocent prat," Alex agreed.

"Agreed," Armstrong boomed heartily. "Right, I'll pass this lot to the tribunal. Probably means an adjournment while they look at the files. Are you two OK for a hotel if you've got to stay in Manchester tonight?"

"Yes, thank you, we booked two nights in advance," Alex said politely.

"Good. Esme, Ian, with me." He left, followed by his DI and WPC - Alex noticed that the WPC was nearly buckling under the weight of the files she carried, but that neither of the men lifted a finger to help her - _sexist attitudes are even worse here than in London_ - and a few moments later she heard him knocking at the door of the meeting room.

All they could do was sit and wait. Alex guessed that Armstrong and his team had been obliged to wait until Jackie had finished giving her evidence. Vicky was still asleep, and the adults had to stay quiet to avoid disturbing her. The inaction told worst upon Gene, who fidgeted constantly and muttered under his breath. It was a relief to all of them when Jackie returned to take charge of her infant. She reported that Armstrong had been told to wait, so there was no news as to what the tribunal would do with his new evidence.

They had been waiting for a boring half-hour when Armstrong and his team emerged, followed by the WPC who had been acting as escort and stenographer to the tribunal.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're sorry that we've been keeping you waiting. DCI Armstrong has just presented the tribunal with new evidence which they wish to consider before proceeding any further. They're adjourning until 4pm. When they resume, they'll need to interview DI Bevan. In these circumstances, none of you will be required again today. Could you please be here at 10.00 sharp tomorrow morning - "

There was a thundering of feet in the corridor, and Glen came racing into the room. "Guv! You've got to tell the tribunal at once!"

"Bloody 'ell, Fletcher, calm down. Where's the fire?"

"Strangeways hospital have just been on the phone. It's DI Bevan. He's dead."

**TBC**

**A/N: Gene states that he, Alex and Hardwick were nearly run down in Brandon Street. I own a complete set of call sheets for Series 3, which give Brandon Street, SE17 as the location, both for this scene and for the scene at the beginning of the episode when Litton assists in the arrest of the prime porn merchants. The same stunt driver doubled for both Litton and Bevan!  
**

**Overanalyser on The Railway Arms has produced a magnificently detailed timeline for Ashes to Ashes, which demonstrates that as the damage to the Blue Peter Garden (S3 episode 4) occurred on 20 November 1983, and Rachel Miller's calendar shows that the showdown at London East Aerodrome (S3 episode 8) takes place on 27 November 1983, episodes 4-8 must take place over successive days, and that episode 5 therefore begins on 23 November.**


	17. What You Wish For

**A/N: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes, BBC and Kudos have all the fun…**

**Once again, apologies for the delay in transmission, especially as the last chapter ended on a cliffhanger. I've been dealing with septuple music reviews.**

**Many thanks to everyone who's continuing to read this epic, and especially to my two faithful reviewers, Katie Duggan's Niece and LouBelle04. If anyone else feels the urge to review, you'd be ever so welcome…**

"WHAT?" Gene, Alex and Armstrong all exploded together. Hardwick looked stunned. Vicky burst out crying. Jackie, inevitably, whipped a notebook from her pocket.

"He's dead," Glen repeated. "They don't know why yet, or how. He'd seemed fine earlier. They knew he was wanted at the hearing later today, so a nurse brought him his clothes, and she found him unconscious. She tried to bring him round and found his heart had stopped. That's all I've got yet, Guv."

"SHIT! We'll 'ave to tell the tribunal. Then we're off to the slammer." Armstrong raced to the meeting room with Glen and DI Hill at his heels. Gene looked at Alex.

"We'll join the party."

-oO0Oo-

A convoy of cars screeched through Greater Manchester to Strangeways. The tribunal members were in their own cars, Armstrong and his team were crammed into his Golf, and Gene, Alex, Jackie, Vicky and Hardwick piled into the Quattro. There was no actual reason for the civilians to be there, but Jackie was onto a story, Vicky could not be left behind, and Alex had the impression that the shell-shocked Hardwick simply needed confirmation that his nemesis was really dead.

To Jackie's disgust, she was not allowed into the building because she was neither a police officer nor a relative of anyone in the prison, and she was obliged to remain in the car with Vicky and Hardwick. The police officers were shown into the hospital, where Bevan's body still lay in its bed, shrouded by a sheet, and a doctor, who introduced himself as Doctor Manley, the head of the hospital unit, was in attendance with a young nurse.

The doctor pulled back the sheet. Bevan's dead face was set in a cold gaze of terror. Gene and Alex had seen that look before, in the face of a friend. They exchanged looks. Neither dared to speak, but each knew what the other was thinking.

"Do you know how he died?" Maddison was saying.

"Looks like 'e was _scared_ to death," Armstrong interjected. "But what could 'ave frightened 'im that much? 'E was only going to be a witness at the tribunal, an' 'is trial doesn't come up for weeks."

"All we know so far is that his heart stopped," Doctor Manley said gravely, "but why is a mystery, as he had the constitution of an ox and his heart was perfectly sound. He may have had an undiscovered infection in a valve, or it may have been due to some severe shock. We should know more following the post-mortem. Candidly, he'd been well enough to discharge for over a fortnight, but we'd been asked to keep him here because he might be in danger in the prison. In addition, there had been an infection to his wound last week, but we'd controlled it with antibiotics and it was nothing to worry about. He was very fractious, but that was natural bad temper rather than illness. We'd been notified that he'd be wanted at the tribunal today, so I told Nurse Fisher here to bring him his clothes and get him out of bed at midday."

All eyes turned to the nurse. She was pale and shocked, but she spoke with determination.

"I got his clothes from a locker. We hadn't left anything with him in case he tried to leave, that's standard practice. I came into his room and saw a doctor bending over him, cradling his face in his hands."

Alex caught her breath.

"It was a doctor I hadn't seen before," the nurse went on. "That didn't surprise me, we often have agency staff to cover for vacancies and sickness."

"They always get full vetting and security clearance at the highest level before they start work here," Doctor Manley added defensively.

"He had a surgical mask covering his face," the nurse continued. "I thought that strange, as DI Bevan wasn't undergoing any treatment, but I thought that he might just have been looking in for a routine check. I wouldn't have thought any more about it, except for something he said. He stood up straight, saw I was there, and came towards me. I bumped into him in the doorway, and apologised. He didn't reply to me directly, but I heard him saying, "So glad I've been allowed out this once to collect my due.""

Alex's blood ran cold, and Gene's eyes met hers. Fortunately everyone else was too engrossed in the nurse's story to notice.

"What on earth could he have meant by that?" Oldaker demanded. The question was rhetorical, but Gene and Alex had a horrible suspicion that they knew the answer.

"I have no idea, Sir. He went away down the corridor and I went over to DI Bevan. I could see straight away that something was badly wrong, and I raised the alarm and tried to resuscitate him, but it was too late."

"And as this doctor had only just seen DI Bevan and didn't raise the alarm, either Bevan died in the few seconds between the doctor leaving the bed and the nurse arriving, or the doctor knew that Bevan had died and did nothing about it," Maddison said thoughtfully.

"_Or_ the doctor caused 'is death," Armstrong added.

"There aren't any agency staff working in the hospital today, so this man must be an imposter," Doctor Manley put in. "As soon as she told me about the man she had seen, I alerted Security at the gate. He wouldn't have had time to leave the building between when she saw him and when the alarm was raised, but they haven't been able to find him anywhere in the prison complex yet. They're tearing the place apart. Nobody can understand it."

_No, they wouldn't be able to find him, _Alex thought_. He has his ways of not being found, unless he wants to be._

"This is _meant _to be a secure unit, but there's enough comings an' goings between the jail an' the hospital, and plenty of places for people to 'ide," Armstrong said contemptuously. "This is a place where inmates can set up a whisky still an' it's not found for weeks. If Sonny-Boy's got rid of 'is mask an' gown, an 'e's not an inmate, 'e could 'ide out till the search 'as died down an' then stow away in a delivery van to get out. Or he might be getting help on the inside. Meantime, we're no nearer identifying 'im or 'is motive."

"He said that he was _collecting his due_," Oldaker said thoughtfully. "That suggests that DI Bevan was in debt to him in some way. Was DI Bevan frightened by a demand for money which he could no longer meet?"

"_Your money or your life?_" Alex said quietly. It was the first time she had spoken since entering the room, and all eyes turned to her. "Perhaps it was DI Bevan's life which was this man's due." _Or his soul._

Gene turned to the nurse. "Could you describe this doctor bloke, love?"

"He was very tall. His hair was covered by a cap, but from what I could see of it, it was dark and curly. His face was very pale, and he had big glasses. I can't forget his eyes, they were huge and almost black."

It was the answer that Gene and Alex had been expecting, but that did not make it any easier to bear.

"Sound 'orribly like someone we know," Gene said thoughtfully. "Wouldn't you say, Cross?" His gaze sought out DCI Cross, who had slunk to the back of the group and tried to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. "A certain missing DCI in your line of business?"

Gene and Alex had the satisfaction of seeing Cross squirm like a worm on a hook. It was quite clear that he had not been expecting this.

"You can't mean DCI Keats, surely?" Cross said virtuously. "What possible reason could he have for wanting DI Bevan's death?"

"Who knows?" Gene said enigmatically. "But 'e's already under suspicion of inciting a prison riot in which one of my officers was killed. That kicked off the day after DI Bevan was arrested. It's possible that Bevan 'ad found out something about 'is intentions an' was prepared to add blackmail to 'is list of crimes. An' Keats disappeared two days later. We're still looking for 'im for questioning in connection with the riot."

"Aren't we jumping to conclusions here?" Maddison interrupted. "Nurse Fisher did not get a clear view of the bogus doctor's face. It could be someone who had either been involved in DI Bevan's crimes, or who had been one of his victims."

"We've got 'is 'whole team banged up at CID," Armstrong pointed out.

"We're in a prison complex housing a considerable number of inmates whom he had helped to bring to justice," Maddison continued, "any one of whom might have seized the opportunity to take revenge."

"Keats 'ad 'is warrant card when 'e vanished," Gene put in. "Could 'ave used it to gain admission."

"We can start by checking today's entry records, then," Armstrong said briskly. Alex noted how effortlessly he was taking charge, even though senior officers were present. "HILL! Get your arse down to the front desk an' check who's signed in an' out today, an' get descriptions from 'em of anyone who isn't regular staff. Cross, 'ave you got a mugshot of DCI Keats?"

"No." The syllable came out as clipped as a shorn sheep.

"Right. Hill, radio CID an' get D an' C in London to fax one over. Then radio for Ivens an' Longlace to shift over 'ere an' interview all the medical staff. Stan an' Connie can 'ave a word with the governor an' look at the prison records. Tell 'em to get a list of inmates banged up by Bevan an' 'is team, _and_ the people they've been leaning on with their protection racket. We'll need to talk to all of 'em."

"It was 12.02 by the clock in the corridor when I met the false doctor outside DI Bevan's room," the nurse said helpfully.

"Ta, love. We can knock out anyone who's got an alibi for that time. Which probably means most of the inmates. That's lunchtime, they'll 'ave been lining up for their dinners then."

"In the meantime, gentlemen, we are still in the middle of a disciplinary tribunal." Maddison took control again. "We have lost a principal witness, but that does not halt the process. There seems to be little more that we can do here. DCI Armstrong, this is your investigation, and I see you're already making a start. Good work. Gentlemen, we'll adjourn until tomorrow at 10.00 to give us the opportunity to read the case files and assess the evidence. DCI Hunt and DI Drake, thank you for your time. Please report to the tribunal at 10.00 tomorrow, and let the other witnesses know, if you will. I believe you brought them here."

"That's correct, Sir," Gene said respectfully. "They're waiting outside in my car."

The nurse re-covered Bevan's face and they all filed out of the room, down the endless corridors out of the hospital, and out of the main entrance, where DI Hill was already involved in an altercation with the desk staff. Alex was desperate to speak to Gene, but dared not utter a word while any of the others could hear her. It was no better when they returned to the Quattro, where Jackie and Hardwick instantly plied them with questions.

"Yes, it's Bevan, an' yes, 'e's dead," Gene snapped, pulling on his driving gloves. "Cause of death not yet known, they'll 'ave to 'old a post-mortem. All the medical staff could tell us is that 'e was found dead at 12.02 an' that 'is 'eart 'ad stopped. Tribunal's adjourned for today, they want us back at ten tomorrow."

"Can't you tell me _anything_ more?" Jackie pleaded.

"This isn't our investigation," Gene said curtly. "You'd do better to latch onto DCI John Armstrong, like the little journalistic leech you are. He's 'eading the inquiry."

Jackie looked mortally offended, but before she or Alex could remonstrate at Gene's rudeness, Armstrong himself tapped on the window. Gene wound it down.

"Well, talk of the bleedin' devil, or maybe the other thing. What can I do for you, Armstrong?"

Armstrong gave them all a broad smile. "Sorry if I'm interruptin' anything, Hunt. Am I right in thinking that this lady is Jackie Queen?"

"You are." Gene deliberately left it unclear as to whether he was referring to the interruption, Jackie's identity, or both.

"Thought so." He grinned at Jackie. "Nice to meet you, Miss."

"You won't say that when you know 'er better," Gene muttered. Alex cuffed him, but not too hard. She knew, too well, the reason for his bad temper.

"Fletcher's told me the mess those bastards 'ave made of your flat," Armstrong continued to Jackie. "You an' your kid'll need somewhere to stay 'til it's cleaned up, an' you should be in a safe 'ouse 'til the tribunal's over."

"Thank you, DCI Armstrong," Jackie said demurely. "DCI Hunt and DI Drake are letting us sleep on a sofa in their hotel room."

"Eh, no call for that, love. I've phoned my Missus. We've got a spare room. You can both sleep there tonight, an' she'll look after your kid tomorrow while you're at the tribunal. Forensics'll 'ave finished with your flat by then, an' I'll get the petrol cleaned up. Place'll be a fire 'azard 'til it's sorted."

"Oh, that's so kind of you!" Alex could almost hear Jackie's eyelashes fluttering. Plainly she was desperate to take Armstrong up on his offer so that she could pump him for details about Bevan's death. "But we wouldn't want to cause you any trouble."

"Nah, no trouble at all. The Missus loves kids. We've 'ad two of our own, but she still adores the species. Come on, Fletcher'll run you 'ome. Sooner 'e's dropped you off, the sooner 'e'll be back to 'elp us find out what 'appened to Bevan."

Jackie needed no further urging. "Thank you very much, DCI Armstrong. Come on, Vicky. Gene, Alex, thanks for the lift. See you tomorrow."

She got out of the car with Vicky in her arms, and walked off with Armstrong in the direction of his Volkswagen. Hardwick cackled with laughter.

"What d'you bet the late edition'll have the whole story?"

"Depends 'ow stupid Armstrong an' Fletcher are," Gene said curtly as he started the car. It took off so quickly that Hardwick, who was not wearing a seatbelt, very nearly shot out of the back seat, and clung to the handle, whimpering with terror.

As Hardwick needed a lift back into town to catch a train at Piccadilly station, Gene could not drop him off until they reached the hotel, and it was not until they entered their room and locked the door behind them, that Alex and Gene felt able to talk.

"Keats." The hated name fell from Gene's lips like the knell of doom. "Bloody, bloody Keats."

"So now we have both of them to face." Alex was white-faced and her eyes were huge. "Morgan and Keats too."

"No." Gene headed for the drinks cabinet and poured himself a generous tot of whisky. "What 'e said to the nurse was a message for us. _So glad I've been allowed out this once to collect my due._"

"Allowed out this once... so he isn't back here on a permanent basis, like Morgan."

"Correct." Gene tossed back the Scotch, poured himself some more, poured a glass for Alex, and handed it to her. "He's in trouble, just as we thought. Confined to Hell. Probably shovelling shit or feeding the furnace. But 'e's made a case to 'is superiors, to be let out to collect Bevan. Because 'e knew that Bevan was 'is due. An' because 'e wanted to rattle us."

"And another soul's been lost." Alex's face was dark with tragedy.

"Yeah." Gene looked bleak. "After Viv died, I swore I'd never let 'im get anyone else. I've failed."

"_Could_ you have saved Bevan?" Alex said cautiously. "After what he'd done?"

"Maybe not," Gene admitted reluctantly. "Not just because 'e was a murdering, blackmailing, racketeering, profiteering bastard. Mac was all that, an' more."

"It was because he didn't repent." Alex felt struck by the revelation, as though it were a sudden shaft of sunlight. "Mac regretted what he had done at the end. Because, as you said, at one time he was a decent man. He begged for your forgiveness and he died in your arms."

"Yeah." Gene started on his second glass. "But Bevan was a bastard through an' through. My job's to help everyone who comes to me. Even the ones who lose their way are worth saving. But some people won't take the chances this world offers 'em to put things right, an' then, even I can't do anything for 'em. An' bloody Keats knew that."

"The investigation will have a job finding him." Alex's voice was soft, drained of emotion. "I only hope they don't end up pinning the blame on an innocent person."

"It's in Armstrong's hands, an' 'e's a Guardian, just like me. Good to know that GMP's got one." Not for worlds would Gene admit that he was jealous at seeing another Guardian in his former kingdom, working in his office, commanding his team. "You were right about finding other Guardians in this world. But 'e doesn't know, an' we do," he added smugly. "That makes us _senior._"

"And Cross? He's one of Keats's lot, isn't he?"

"You're learning. Yes, he is. I spotted 'im on sight. But 'e's a junior grade compared to Keats or Morgan. The sort that counts the paper clips in Hell."

"But that doesn't mean that all of D and C are Keats's or Morgan's people, does it? You said at Christmas, that a real D and C man was investigating Wilson."

"S'right. The Devil 'as 'is ways of getting a foothold in the world, an' D an' C's one of 'em. Set up with the best of reasons, but gives the bad boys a chance to snare the weak ones an' the doubters. Goes to show that the road to Hell really _is_ paved with good intentions. Offer some stupid bastard who's lost 'is faith in 'imself or 'is team the chance of a new start if 'e joins 'em, or the chance to be let off if 'e's 'ad 'is 'and in the till, an' - " He mimed a gesture of cutting his throat.

"So when D and C come to call, we never know whether it's a real D and C officer or a devil?"

"That's the size of it."

"Cross didn't know that Keats was coming for Bevan," Alex said thoughtfully. "He was as surprised as we were, and he didn't have an answer ready when the nurse described Keats."

"I noticed that. I thought for a moment that meant that Keats was acting against Callahan's orders, but Keats said 'e'd been _let out_. No, he an' Callahan just didn't bother to warn Cross. He's too junior for them to notice."

"Let's hope Armstrong will be able to handle him, then. But what will happen to Armstrong when he can't find Bevan's murderer?" Alex said anxiously.

"My money's on the post mortem finding Bevan died of natural causes. Keats'll want to cover 'is tracks. There'll be the mystery of the masked doctor nobody knew, but there'll be less urgency to find 'im once they find out that 'e isn't a killer."

"And the mystery of how he could get into a secure unit unchallenged," Alex added. "But you and I know that he can be wherever he wants to be. He's everywhere, just like you." She shuddered. "When he suddenly appeared in the farmhouse, he rose up from his corner, as though he hadn't been there before. He just suddenly _appeared_..."

"Yeah, an' that was why 'e needed _my_ car for the trip back," Gene said bitterly. Among all the woes of that day, it still rankled that, in his weakness and despair, he had allowed Keats to drive the Quattro. He looked hard at Alex. "Worst of it is, Bols, the bastard's done us a favour by taking Bevan out. He knows that, an' by God 'e'll be enjoying it right now. An' if that's possible, it makes me hate 'im even more than I did before."

"Of course." Alex stared at him, white-faced. "There was the risk that when Bevan was called as witness, he might bring up the matter of Sam's disappearance again. He didn't know it, but he had the power to uncover the nature of this world. Dear God, was it really only yesterday you told me that? So much has happened since, it seems like months. But why did Keats take him, then? Surely it would have been in his best interests to let Bevan destroy this world, and then take him."

"We know from what Keats said, that 'e was let out today, specially to collect Bevan. Looks like 'e didn't 'ave the option of sticking around any longer. He wants to destroy this place, we know that, but Callahan's playing a longer game. Wants to give souls the chance to destroy themselves, just as Bevan did, an' Hales an' Louise did." Alex noticed that he did not mention Viv.

"And as Litton might, if the tribunal were to go against him."

"Too bloody right, though I'm 'oping that between us we've done enough for 'im now. Our evidence, Jackie's, an' Hardwick's, an' what Armstrong's collected, should be enough to clear 'im. But 'ere's what I mean by the longer game, Bols. Keats would 'ave gone in to try to get Litton. He's impulsive. Callahan's on the slow burn. He knows that if Keats nailed Litton, the rest of the team would get off free."

"Except for Bevan."

"Correct. That's why Callahan 'as let Keats take Bevan. He knows that'll leave Warman an' 'is merry men exposed. With Bevan gone, they'll be hit a lot 'arder at their trial, than if 'e was there to take the flak. An' that gives Callahan the chance to collect on them later on. Four more souls that could be 'eading for the lift."

"Unless they redeem themselves," Alex said quietly.

"Here's 'oping. But that'll be up to them. Like I said, Bols, they'll 'ave to take the chances this world offers them. If they don't, we can't do anything. But at least they'll 'ave Armstrong. Time for 'im to spread 'is wings."

"And in the meantime, today we've lost another human soul." Alex's voice was heavy with sorrow.

"Yes. Bevan might 'ave been beyond redemption, but that didn't make 'is soul any less precious. Keats 'as won this round, sod 'im. An' I may even 'ave given 'im an opening."

"_You?_" Alex gaped.

Gene was grim-faced. "Remember what I said yesterday, in the car? _There's not much we can do about Bevan, short of getting 'im murdered in 'is bed._"

Alex sank into a chair. "Oh, my God. We both know you didn't mean it like that, but - "

"But if I 'adn't said it, who know whether 'e'd 'ave been able to get into the prison an' take Bevan?" Gene said heavily. "We still don't know just what powers I've got, to influence what 'appens in this world. Be careful what you wish for, Bolly. You just might get it."

-oO0Oo-

As they had subsisted on room service the previous night while protecting Jackie, Sharkey insisted on giving them the promised champagne dinner on the house that evening, but they had little appetite for it. Knowing that Bevan's death would almost certainly delay them in Manchester for another day, Gene made a point of extending their reservation for a third night.

Later, they lay together in the huge, soft bed, but they did not make love. At first, Alex feared that Gene would roll away and reject all contact with her, but when she curled into his side, she felt his arms come around her, and he held her as though he feared to lose her to some power beyond his control. They fell asleep clinging together, and awakened in the morning still locked tightly in one anothers' arms.

They presented themselves at the GMP building promptly at 10.00, and, once again, were shown to the waiting room. Jackie and Hardwick were there again, but the former reported that Vicky was being cared for by Armstrong's wife, and she was full of praise for the kindness which the Armstrongs had shown her.

"Get much out of 'im for your story, did you?" Gene said suspiciously.

"No, he couldn't tell me much about how Bevan died, because the investigation is still ongoing," Jackie said regretfully. "But he did tell me how he was one of the group that saw Bevan's body, and who else was there, including you two. Enough for me to phone a story through to Charlie and for him to tell me to stick with it."

"You could make a story out of _Little Red Riding Hood_," Gene grumbled. "Alert! Wolf on the Loose. Granny an' Granddaughter Tell Of Narrow Escape. The Axeman Cometh."

"There are enough wolves around in Manchester for me to leave fairy tales to the kids," Jackie said darkly. "And if Warman and his chums get away with it, I'll have to move south."

"Not much chance of that," Gene declared. "What we've given the tribunal will stitch 'em up like a fishmonger's shop full of kippers, unless Litton makes a complete an' utter balls-up when they cross-examine 'im." He looked reflective. "Grilled Derek. _Not _a nice thought. Enough to put me off my Friday night curry."

About an hour after their arrival, they saw Litton and his lawyer being escorted into the meeting room, and shortly afterwards a man in handcuffs was taken in, whom they guessed to be one of the members of Bevan's team who had been arrested the previous day. In the course of the morning he was taken out and another handcuffed man was taken in, to be replaced later on by a third prisoner. After his removal, there was no further movement for over two hours, and they guessed that Litton was facing his cross-examination.

They were brought coffee and sandwiches for lunch, and were told not to leave. It was gone three o'clock before they saw Litton emerge from the meeting room with his lawyer. He looked exhausted, but he was walking tall and proud, his head held high. Alex remembered his unexpected dignity and defiance when Keats arrested him, and felt a grudging admiration for the man. He might be a trogdolyte so prehistoric that he made Gene look positively progressive, but there was no doubting his courage. She had wondered whether he would stop to speak to them, but the lawyer, doubtless fearing later accusations of collusion, hustled him past them.

A further half hour passed, and Gene, bored out of his mind, was fit to be tied, when Armstrong joined them. Gene instantly made him the target of his displeasure.

"Bloody 'ell, Armie, 'aven't you got any work to do, that you keep sniffing round 'ere?"

" 'Course I 'ave." Armstrong grinned broadly. "That's why I'm 'ere. Warman's sung like Pavarotti. We pulled in some of the jammy dodgers he and his team 'ad been extorting money from. Now they know Bevan's carked it and the others are in custody, they aren't afraid to talk. One of 'em's accused Warman of attempted murder. We confronted him with the statement, and Hill convinced him that it would be in his best interests to co-operate with the police. Might make things easier for him at 'is tribunal. Most important, he's confirmed what the others said yesterday. Litton wasn't involved. Bevan was the Obergruppenführer. I'm off to tell the tribunal. Back soon." He clapped Gene on the shoulder, swept out of the room, knocked on the door of the meeting room, and was admitted a few seconds later.

Gene looked at Alex. "Drake. A word." He rose, and she followed him into the corridor, out of earshot of Jackie and Hardwick, although Alex could almost hear Jackie's ears sticking out like car doors.

"Well," Gene murmured. "Looks like Litton just might be dodging the bullet with 'is name on it."

"It doesn't change Keats's original charge, though," she whispered back. "He _did _fail to prevent the crimes committed by Bevan and his boys. Cross could be making capital of that, and the tribunal may want to make an example of him."

"With Bevan dead, the lawyer could claim they're going for an easy target," Gene pointed out. "But Keats 'ad been 'oping they'd pin criminal charges on Litton, an' they'll 'ave a hard time doing that now."

"It's something," Alex agreed cautiously.

Yet again, all they could do was wait. Armstrong emerged some ten minutes later.

"Got to wait with you lot in case they want to check anything in the evidence. Looks like they're about to sum up. Won't be long now."

Jackie, inevitably, reached for her notebook. "Is there anything else you can tell my readers?"

"Not about the tribunal yet," he said severely. "An' before you ask, no, we haven't found that fake doctor who was seen with Bevan. But the post-mortem shows that, whoever it was, he didn't kill 'im."

"_No?_" Alex and Jackie said together. Gene did not look as surprised as he should have done, but luckily nobody noticed.

"No, it was heart failure. A diseased valve. The sort of thing that could lie doggo for months or even years without 'im ever knowing anything was wrong, an' then clock 'im when 'e wasn't expecting it. He'd have felt a few seconds' intense pain, an' that was all. That explains the look on his face. Goes to show, ladies and gentlemen, thou knowest not at what hour."

"It's still strange that the fake doctor didn't raise the alarm when he saw Bevan was dead," Jackie said thoughtfully. Alex was glad that she was not the one who had to mention that. Gene was uncharacteristically silent.

"Probably took fright an' legged it," Armstrong ventured. "We're still after him. He's a vital witness, and we need to know why he was there. But this isn't a murder case any more." Pointedly changing the subject, he turned to Gene. "So, Hunt, how's life in the Met?"

"Much the same as up 'ere," Gene said dismissively. "Scum's scum, wherever you find it. Tell me," he added, as though it were an afterthought, "what do you know about DCI Cross?"

Armstrong shrugged. "Not much. Our paths haven't "Crossed" before." He laughed heartily at his own joke, and Gene blenched. Even Hardwick didn't look impressed. "I run a clean ship. I know he's a pain in the arse, of course. D and C blokes always are. An' I've 'ad a officer keeping an eye on 'is communications, ever since that Keats bloke of yours went missing."

"Not mine." Gene suddenly lost his air of detachment, and the air grew heavy with his suppressed rage. "If anyone says so, I disclaim ownership."

"Well, you're looking for 'im." Armstrong was clearly puzzled by the intensity of Gene's response, but was prepared to let it pass.

"True." Gene caught Alex's warning glance, and tried to simmer down. "But watch out for Cross. If 'e's anything at all to do with Keats, 'e's bad news. An' I'll give you another tipoff. Another Met D an' C bloke. DCI Frank Morgan."

"What, the wonderful Wizard of Oz?" Armstrong's booming laugh rang out again.

"In person," Gene said grimly. "He used to work for GMP. Slippery as a fishmonger's shop. If 'e turns up round your way, I'd be glad if you'd let me know."

"Done." Armstrong held out his hand, and Gene shook it.

The door to the meeting room opened, and everyone looked round. One of the WPCs emerged and returned shortly afterwards with Litton and his lawyer. All three vanished inside.

Gene's voice broke the silence. "Looks like they've come to a decision."

**TBC**


	18. Down Memory Lane

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes, but I do own most of the characters in this chapter!**

**You're all going to hate me, but having left the end of the last chapter on a cliffhanger I'm now moving the action to London to catch up on what Jason's getting up to while Gene and Alex are in Manchester. Sorry, but that's necessary for me to keep the story in chronological order. I'm also sorry that this is another Jason-only chapter: I need it to set up some more plot lines. Chapter 19 will return to Gene and Alex in Manchester, and we will at last learn Litton's fate. **

**Renewed thanks to my two faithful reviewers, Katie Duggan's Niece and LouBelle04. If anyone else feels the urge to review, then please, please do…**

Jason didn't know whether to be glad or sorry that his first day in charge of CID turned out to be eventful. On the one hand, he had not lost sight of the fact that he was a DCI in his own time, and while he continued to relish the teamwork and cameraderie of being a member of the Guv's kingdom, a part of him wanted to show what he could do on his own. Although he knew that Gene was pleased with his performance since he joined the team, that remark on his second day about "a paper copper" still rankled. He longed to prove himself. On the other hand, he had his own plans for the evening, and dreaded the prospect of having to spend it at a stakeout or answering a call to a blag.

He was doomed to disappointment. After a quiet morning characterised by the amount of paperwork he could shift, the call to action came just after lunch, with a blag at a sub-post office. Fortunately the sub-postmaster and his wife kept their heads when faced by two robbers with guns and stocking masks. The wife created a diversion by pretending to faint while her husband pressed the alarm button under the counter, and uniform managed to arrive on the scene just as the blaggers departed. Jason, in the Cavalier with Terry, Poirot and Slate, got a radio message which enabled him to cut the blaggers' car off from the front while two squad cars caught them from behind. The blaggers' car swerved into a boundary wall, knocking one of them unconscious, and the other put his hands up as soon as Jason and the others approached with their guns. It turned out that the ruthless criminals were two teenage tearaways, neither of whom had a driving licence, with a stolen car and replica guns.

He should have been pleased at being able to head up his own case. The car chase should have made his heart race and his blood tingle. But he felt nothing but anticlimax. Processing the case took the rest of the day and well into the evening. He left it to Poirot to get the statements from the sub-postmaster, his wife, and eyewitnesses, but he had to interview and charge the little squirts, the undamaged one straight away and the other after he had been checked up and released by the hospital, he had to write the report, and he and Lisa had to inform the little bastards' parents. One lived in a filthy council flat with a lazy, shiftless mother, a brood of untended siblings and a father conspicuous by his absence, and Jason found himself wondering how the child could have avoided drifting into a life of crime in such unpromising surroundings. But the other came from an affluent, immaculate suburban semi-detached and his parents had plainly given him every advantage in life. The father was stunned to learn of his son's criminality, and the mother was utterly distraught. It was an upsetting evening, and by the time they were finished, there was no time to carry out his own plans. He had a quick drink with Lisa and the lads at Sandro's and retired to bed disgruntled.

But the next day was all that he could have wished for. The conscientious caught up with their paperwork, and the easier spirits studied the _Racing News_ or the football pools. He had no qualms about calling beer o'clock at five precisely, and the office emptied as quickly as if he had announced an imminent flu epidemic.

"Coming to Sandro's?" Lisa asked him, on her way to the locker room.

"Er, no, not tonight." He found it hard to meet her eyes. "I've got to meet a new contact. Might get something useful."

She brightened. "Anything I can help with?"

In spite of himself, he smiled. He knew that the Guv was resolutely keeping her on tea duty, filing and typing until he could be satisfied, first that she was fully recovered from her wound, and secondly, "until she learns not to do such an arse-'eaded thing again." She had said little, but Jason could guess her frustration. He had already learned from Alex that Shaz, Lisa's predecessor, whose photograph was on the wall above the trophy cabinet, had been similarly frustrated for a long time by the Guv's refusal to give her any quality work, but had eventually achieved promotion to DC.

"Not tonight. It's best I meet this one alone. But I promise, if I need your help another time, I'll let you know."

"Thanks." The smile which she flashed at him was his reward. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Yes. Tomorrow."

His conscience was troubling him as he walked out of the station and set his course due west. What he hoped to do tonight, was something that he would never be able to explain to her.

He had heard nothing from 2010 since the message almost a month ago, which had told him that he was going into a medically induced coma. He had guessed that time in 2010 and in the 1980s worked at different speeds, and calculated that a day in 2010 time equalled about a month in 1980s time. That meant that he had a good chance of remaining in 1984 for a few months at least, which should give him time to fulfil the vow he had made the day after his arrival and again on the day of the Harrods bomb - and now, when the Guv was away and could not ask any awkward questions, was the ideal time to make a start.

He had not visited his former haunts in Soho since coming to the 1980s. He still recalled how, on getting his first job there on his return to London in 1995, he had been bitterly disappointed to find out how much it had changed since the hallowed days of his childhood. He had been further grieved by the progressive smartening and sanitisation of the area since then. He had often wondered whether his memories of Soho in his youth had been enhanced by nostalgia for all that he had lost. Now was his chance to find out the truth, and to find one very important person. He had not altogether lied to Lisa: he did hope to contact someone, but he doubted whether he would get any information which would help the police. On the other hand, it might help him, very much indeed.

Knowing that the difficulties of parking in Soho would be as bad in this time as in his own, he left the Cavalier in the car pool and took a bus. He felt a knot of excitement in his stomach as he got off in Piccadilly Circus. A couple of minutes' walk took him to his destination in Lower John Street.

He stood outside _The Golden Domino_, the small, shabby nightclub on the corner and gazed at it with as much rapture as if it were Kubla Khan's stately pleasure dome. Which, for him, perhaps it was. He had lost count of the number of times he had gazed at it from the window of the top floor flat opposite. The nightclub staff had always made a pet of him, and occasionally, as a great treat, he had been allowed inside during the day to watch the girls rehearsing their songs and dances. It had always looked dark and empty then, but his imagination had told him that at night, when only grown-ups could go in, it would be in its full splendour, like a fairytale palace.

He risked a glance up at the illuminated window of a flat where, he knew, an elderly lady would be having a hard job of it to get an excited small boy to go to sleep. He wondered, fleetingly, what would happen if he were to meet his younger self. The thought felt creepy. Would they both be able to exist in the same world, or would one of them go out like a candle? It was not something he was willing to risk trying, at least not yet. Not until he was ready to leave this world, if such a time should ever come.

The flashing neon lights above the entrance to the club invited him to enter. He smiled and willingly stepped forward.

"I've come home."

He grinned with pleasure as he recognised the big, burly bouncer on the door. "Tommy! Long time no see, mate!"

"Eh?" The bouncer thrust his face close into his. "Don't know you, sunshine."

Jason smiled again. "Oh, but I know you, very well. You used to play with me and give me toys and chocolates."

Tommy's face darkened. "Wossat? You saying I'm a poof?" He raised one ham-like fist.

Jason raised his hands in a placatory gesture and hurriedly stepped back. "Not at all, not at all. So, er, can I come in?"

Tommy was clearly torn between the desire to reduce the impudent young tosser to pulp and knowing that his revenge would rob the club of a client and, quite possibly, attract the attention of the police.

"Yeah. But any more poofy talk, and I'll - "

"Scout's honour." Jason saluted smartly and walked in, leaving Tommy spluttering behind him.

He paid at the desk, but, remembering the encounter with Tommy, he took care not to show that he recognised the woman who presided there. He remembered Auntie Irma as a former showgirl who had been past her sell-by before she came to the Domino, but he was saddened to see that she looked even gaunter and more raddled than in his memory. Would everything else here be a disappointment too? He nearly turned tail and left at once, but he stopped himself. He had come too far to turn back now. He squared his shoulders and walked determinedly down the stairs. The throb of _Copacabana _assailed his ears even before he walked into the room.

His first impression was that it was smaller than he had remembered. But that was natural, he told himself. He had last seen this place when he was a small child, to whom it seemed the size of a cathedral, and he had always seen it by day, when it was empty. Not that the place was exactly heaving now, but a few dancers were determinedly jigging to the music beneath the coloured lights, and a scattering of patrons sat at tables or were standing to watch the show. But he recognised the garish decor, highlighted by the shards of light shed by a constantly twirling witch ball, the small stage where the three girls were gyrating - he knew Lola, Rita and Carley on sight - and the bar in the corner, where a dark, heavy-set man and a blonde woman, her prettiness fading towards plumpness, served the occasional customer.

He knew that he must be smiling like a lunatic and glowing like the Northern Lights, but he didn't care.

_"Mum."_

Fortunately for him, Manilow was making too much racket for anyone to hear what he said. Every impulse told him to rush over to the bar and fling his arms around her neck, but he knew that he would have to proceed with caution. To her, he would be just another punter.

He strolled over to the bar, and the barman made a beeline for him. He was disappointed, as he had wanted his mother to serve him with his first drink of the night, but he could hardly express a preference out loud. Fortunately, at that moment Manilow finished and the music turned to smoochy Spandau Ballet, so he was able to order without bawling.

"Coke, please, Tony. Ice and lemon."

"Coming up." The barman plunked a glass onto the counter, added ice, dived into the fridge for a bottle, and turned back to his customer, looking confused. "Hey, how come you know my name? I've never seen you before. I know all the regulars here."

"Correct." Jason smiled. "It's my first time here, but a friend of mine recommended this place to me as somewhere to come and unwind, and he told me how good your cocktails are."

Tony emptied the Coke bottle into the glass and dropped in a couple of slices of lemon. "So, why're you drinking this?"

Jason looked as rueful as he could. "I'm on medication. Forbidden to touch alcohol. Maybe another time."

"Here's hoping," Tony said curtly. "Five fifty."

"Bloody hell!" For a moment, Jason found himself copying his Guv's language. Of course he knew from his own day, how nightclubs made up their expenses by charging inordinate prices for soft drinks, and the price Tony quoted would be on the high side in 2010, but in 1984 it was blench-making. He sighed and reached into his pocket for the cash. He would have to ration his drinking if he was to stay around here for any length of time without going bankrupt.

There was a bar stool free, so he parked himself on it, sipped the Coke very slowly, and settled down to absorb the ambiance. After a while, the girls were replaced by a singer. His mother had never much liked Blowsy Lily, he remembered, but he put that down to the fact that Lily had replaced her when she had been downgraded to toiling behind the bar. He remembered that Lily had always been kind to him, perhaps out of guilt for usurping his mother's job. He listened as she warbled a ballad, but her voice sounded harsh and cracked. He tried to block it out and conjure up his memories of his mother's rich, mellow voice practicing in their flat.

Someone nudged him, and he jumped violently, nearly spilling his Coke. He jumped again when he saw who had done the nudging. A pair of bright blue eyes gazed at him from across the counter. His mother.

"Howdy, Dreamer Boy." She jerked her head towards the stage. "Entertainment not to your taste, then?"

"I'm disappointed," he managed to say. "A friend of mine came here a couple of years back, and he told me how good the singer was. I was hoping for better than this."

She snorted. "If your friend was here two years ago, it won't 'ave been _her_ he heard. It was me."

"_Really?_" Jason leaned towards her interestedly. "I remember now, he did tell me the name. Lindana."

"That's me." She looked sad. "That is, it _was_ me. Now I'm plain old Linda Collins, stuck behind the bar."

"I wish I'd been here to hear you sing, then," he said gallantly.

She sighed. "Oh, for a time machine, eh?" She glanced down at his glass. "I dunno, you haven't been in 'ere an hour and already you've managed to upset Tony by ordering Coke instead of a cocktail, and - " she dropped her voice - "pleasing me by not liking Lily. You'll do. Pleased to meet you." She held out her hand, and he took it and shook it, aware that he was trembling. He sensed how hot and damp her hand felt, and how her pulse hammered. Did she somehow guess who he was? _Impossible_.

"Jason Collins. Pleased to meet _you_." As soon as he had said his name, he could have bitten his tongue off. Of course, he should have used an alias. But he knew that this was one thing on which he could not lie to her.

She had released his hand, and was gazing at him strangely. "What a coincidence. That's my little boy's name, too."

"Really?" He was using that word a lot tonight. "Well, it's not uncommon." She was still looking at him. "Sorry, is something the matter?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Sorry. Must be the light. You're reminding me of someone I knew once."

He tried to smile. "Can't be me, I'm new to this part of London."

"No. Not you." Her voice dropped lower. "Jason's dad. He - he'd have been about your age, if he'd lived."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He laid his hand over hers, and for a moment both were silent. Her eyes were full of tears as they met his.

_"Linda!_ Get over there!" Tony had come up behind her and slapped her shoulder. "Customers waiting to be served. You know what I've told you about dreaming on the job!"

"Sorry, Tony. Right with you." She released Jason's hand and wiped her eyes. "Sorry, got to go."

Jason nodded. "See you around." She nodded and fled. Tony lingered for a second to glare at Jason before following her.

Jason was left trembling with excitement. He had seen her, spoken to her. She didn't know who he was, but she liked him and seemed to trust him. It was a start. He didn't know if he would be able to risk speaking to her again tonight for fear of getting her into trouble, but he could not bring himself to leave just yet. He left the stool and took another seat, further back in the shadows, where he would be able to watch her unobserved.

"Just yet" ended up lasting until closing time. Jason had managed to subsist on his Coke plus a mineral water. His mother served him with his second drink. The bar was busy, and they could not speak, but she gave him a weary, _oh-shit_ smile as she pushed the glass across the counter towards him, and even that small contact warmed him to the tips of his toes. The rest of the time, he had been content to sit in the shadows, glancing at her whenever he dared, simply content to know that he was near her.

He left reluctantly, knowing that it would be better to melt away anonymously than to risk a confrontation with Tommy and the other bouncers. But he went no further than the opposite corner, and stood there in the shadow of a building, watching the door of the nightclub. As his mother only lived across the road, there would have been little point in offering to see her home, but he wanted to make sure that she got back to her flat safely.

The staff and performers gradually emerged and departed, some alone, others in groups. Still he waited, until at last he saw his mother emerge, alone. Tony had gone some minutes earlier. She gathered her well-worn overcoat about her shoulders with an almost defiant air, stepped forward, and fell off the curb into the gutter.

Jason raced towards her, but before he could reach her four leather-jacketed louts appeared from nowhere and converged upon her. One sat astride her.

"Come on, Linda love. Piece for us?"

"No - get off me - "

"Grab 'er bag! It's payday at the Domino!"

Jason reached the group, threw the last speaker over his shoulder with as much ease as if he were a binbag, kicked the second lout in the side of the head, sending him reeling, hauled the third off Linda by the front of his noisome leather jacket and delivered a stunning right hook to the jaw, and clouted the fourth as he lunged for her. Linda lay there whimpering and clinging to her bag. Jason jumped astride her, and as Number Two came back and made a grab for the bag, Jason stamped on his hand. He screamed shrilly, and Jason ground his foot into the hand. Number One tried to return to the fray, but Jason clouted him with a sidestrike to the head and belted Number Four around the chops with his other hand. Number Three came back for more, and as Jason whirled to face him, Number Two tried to grab his ankle with his good hand. Linda clawed at him from where she lay. Jason kicked out to get him under the chin, and he dropped to the ground.

This was _living_. He had never truly lived like this. He could feel adrenaline surging through his veins like molten lava as he spun back to face Number One and Number Four. He jumped forward and caught them both under their chins, and they went down. His heart was racing...

_"Doctor!_ _His heart rate's increasing! One hundred and eighty a minute and rising!"_

_"Good Lord! Increase the dosage at once. Morphine and oxygen."_

He felt a sharp, tingling sensation in his arm. All at once, his head fogged and he swayed as though poleaxed. Number Three loomed over Linda, and there there was nothing he could do. He had failed to protect his mother.

Suddenly a door banged behind him, there was a rushing of footsteps, and Tommy belted Number Three from behind with a lump of wood. He went down like a millstone.

Tommy mopped his brow. "Well done, young Fairy-boy! Didn't 'ave you down as a fighter. Want a job 'ere as a bouncer?"

Jason was already on his knees beside Linda, who lay with her eyes closed. "Linda? You all right, love?"

Her eyelashes fluttered and she looked up at him. "_Ray?_"

His heart thundered. "No, it's me, Jason Collins. The _other _Jason Collins. We talked for a minute or so tonight at the bar. It's OK, Tommy and I have flattened those bastards for you. Thanks for helping."

Tommy crouched beside him and helped him lift her into a sitting position. "You shouldn't be doing this, love," he said with surprising gentleness. "We've all told you before."

She shook her head defiantly. "I'm all right, Tommy. Thanks. Just leave me be to get home to my boy. Ethel's waiting."

Jason helped her to sit on the kerb. "Do you live far from here?" He was proud of himself for remembering that he was not supposed to know where she lived.

"Just over there." Tommy nodded across the road. "Six floors an' no lift. But you're not going there yet, love. I'm taking you to hospital."

"I'm all _right_!" she groaned. "I slipped when I stepped off the kerb, that's all, and the Boiler Room Boys saw me go. Just let me get home to lie down."

"Boiler Room Boys?" Jason looked questioningly at Tommy.

"Them." Tommy nodded at the unconscious thugs. "They're the bouncers for another club, just up the road. _The Boiler Room._ Vicious bastards, hang around 'ere like a flock of vultures. They've 'ad 'er pay packet once before."

Jason was astounded. "Why the hell hasn't this been reported to the police?"

Tommy lowered his voice. "Because their owner's got a protection racket, an' what he says, goes! We go to the filth, they'll burn the place down an' we're all out of a job!"

"Right. Well, I'll take it out of your hands. I'm a police officer."

"EH?" Tommy and Linda said together.

"Off duty," Jason said almost apologetically. "Even coppers like to unwind sometimes. Don't worry, I'll report this as a straightforward attempted mugging. Needn't mention their club or yours at all. They'll go down for attempted robbery with violence, and they'll be out of your hair."

"But we'd have to testify," Linda said, very low. "And it's not just the club they could burn down. They know where I live, and I've got my boy to think about."

"And do you want him to grow up like them because nobody stopped them ruling the streets?" Jason said ruthlessly. Number Two stirred, and Jason punched him again. "They didn't know I was in the club. I'll say I was just passing, stopped them mugging you, had assistance from a passer-by, and you both legged it while I was summoning a squad car to get them to the nick." Both looked uneasy. "It's the best way for all of us. None of them saw Tommy, but if anyone's seen us, they could tell the Boiler Room that he was helping me."

That decided Tommy. "Phone's just inside the door. I haven't locked up. I'll stay with 'em while you make the call."

"Done." Jason stood up. "Then you both wait inside till the squad car's here. It won't be more than a few minutes." He nipped inside, made the call, and emerged to find Tommy lifting Linda in his arms, as easily as if she were a rag doll. He carried her inside, still protesting feebly, and Jason waited with his unconscious captives until plod arrived to cart them back to the station with a promise from Jason to come and interview them later. He went back inside, just as Tommy was coming out.

"Still 'ere? I'd thought you'd gone with the cops."

Jason grinned. "Bastards'll keep until later. You get off home, Tommy, and thanks for your help. I'll see Linda home."

Tommy looked dubious. "You'll 'ave a job with those stairs. They aren't wide enough for you to carry 'er."

"No problem, I'll use a fireman's lift if I have to."

"I am still here, you know, and I can hear you," Linda's voice floated out from within. Jason peered round the corner, to find her sitting in a small office, sipping a cup of tea.

Tommy glanced at his watch. "If you're sure - "

"Positive."

"Ta. I'll be getting home, then. The wife'll be worrying about what's happened to me."

"Off you go, and thanks again." He helped Linda to stand, flung an arm around her shoulder, and helped her outside, leaving Tommy to lock up. Fortunately, the street was quiet. He was afraid that Linda still might be unable to stand, but the hot, sweet tea which Tommy had given her seemed to have revived her, and with his support she could cross the road, unlock the front door, and ascend the stairs with Jason at her back, ready to catch her if she faltered. The twelve flights of stairs to the top floor seemed endless, but at last they reached the top and she unlocked the door. The small hallway was dark but the light was on in the living room. Linda put her finger to her lips, pointing to the door behind which Jason knew that his younger self would be sleeping, and he helped her along to the tiny, familiar sitting room and quietly closed the door behind them. Jason, who had last seen the room at the age of six, felt that his adult self was distinctly too large for his surroundings.

A thin old lady, whom he remembered well, slept in one of the two armchairs. Linda shook her shoulder gently.

"Ethel! It's me!"

Ethel awakened with a start. "Mmm? Linda? Oh, love, I'm so sorry, I must have dozed off. I was waiting so long..." She took in Jason, standing behind Linda. "Who's this?"

"Ethel, this is Jason. Another Jason Collins, would you believe. Jason, this is Ethel Holt, my neighbour. She looks after my boy while I'm working." Linda sank into the other armchair, exhausted.

Ethel stood and held out a tentative hand to Jason. "Pleased to meet you."

Jason swept her into a bear hug. "It's good to see you, Ethel." Both women looked surprised by the warmth of his welcome.

Ethel turned to Linda, and her glance took in the clock in the mantlepiece. "My God, you're hours late! And you look awful - what on earth's been happening? And why is he here?"

"He saved me from being mugged," Linda said wearily.

"_What?_"

"The Boiler Room Boys."

"Again," Ethel said grimly.

"Yes. And I was paid tonight."

Ethel turned to Jason. "Thank you, young man. Pity she can't afford to employ you as a full-time bodyguard."

"It was nothing," Jason said modestly. "I had help. Tommy joined in. Look, shall I make you both a cup of tea?"

"Nothing for me, thanks, I'll be going in a moment. But Linda could do with it."

Linda nodded wearily. "Thanks. Kitchen's on the right."

"I know - that is, I saw as we came past," Jason said hurriedly, and took himself out. But while he waited for the kettle to boil, he stole back to listen by the door.

"You look awful," Ethel was saying urgently. "What's wrong?"

"I've got a headache, and I'm tired, and I'm in shock," Linda snapped. "I was mugged, for God's sake. Did Jason get off to sleep?"

Ethel plainly recognised Linda's effort to change the subject, and went along with it. Jason guessed that this must have happened before. "Yes, went off like a lamb, and still sleeping sound when I last looked in."

"Thanks. Sorry, I'm snappy tonight. I don't know how I'd manage without you, Ethel. Thank you for everything."

"It's no trouble," Ethel said firmly. "I just wish you didn't have to do what you do."

"Do I have a choice?" Linda said bitterly.

"I didn't say that. But that lad needs more time with his Mum."

"I know." Linda sounded utterly weary. "Maybe some day."

"The way you're going, that day may never come!" Ethel said sharply, then relaxed. "Sorry, love. You've just been through hell, and all I do is rant at you."

"Don't worry. We're both tired. You get off home to bed, Ethel. I'm sorry, I ask too much of you."

"No, you don't. Good night, love. I'll be back tomorrow."

Jason beat a retreat to the kitchen and attended to the tea, just as Ethel emerged from the living room and put her head around the door.

"Good night, young man, and thank you again."

He smiled. "Good night, Ethel." He drew closer and said in a lower voice, "Do you know if there is anything wrong with Linda? She simply collapsed in the street, just before those thugs went for her."

Ethel's face hardened. "She's working herself into the ground to provide for her son."

"And nothing else?" Jason persisted.

He instantly knew that he had gone too far. The shutters came down. "For someone who's only just met her, aren't you asking rather a lot of questions? Good _night._"

Ethel swept out of the kitchen, leaving Jason silently cursing. He might have made an enemy where he needed a friend, and he had lost his chance of learning more about his mother. But what struck him most, was how old and defeated she had suddenly looked. _She always seemed so vital when I was a child. I hadn't realised then that she was old. They both made everything look good to me. I've had to come back as an adult to start learning how much they had to hide from me. What have I still got to find out?_

He finished making the tea and took it through to the sitting room. Linda was still sitting in the armchair, her head back, her eyes closed, almost asleep. He was wondering whether to leave the tea beside her and creep out, when her eyes opened and she looked up at him with a tired smile.

"Thanks. You shouldn't have bothered."

"Of course I should," Jason said gallantly, handing the cup to her. She sipped gratefully, and her face brightened.

"Mmm. Just the way I like it."

He smiled. "No sugar and a finger of milk."

She looked astonished. "Yes, but how did you know? I didn't tell you."

"I'm a detective," he bluffed. "I guessed."

She tried to smile, but she was so tired that she nearly dropped the cup, and he had to grab it and set it down.

"Are you OK now?"

"I will be."

"That was a nasty fall. Are you bruised at all?"

"Nothing that won't heal."

She was becoming tight-lipped, and he knew that he could not risk pushing her much further, yet there were things that he still needed to say.

"Will you be in any trouble at work because of this?"

"Shouldn't be, so long as I turn up on time tomorrow. And I will. You might not think it, but we all look out for each other at the club. Just as Tommy did tonight."

"And Tony? I saw him shouting at you."

"His bark's worse than his bite. He's all right." She was nearly falling asleep as she spoke.

"Sorry. I'll leave you to get some sleep." He fished a notebook from his pocket, scribbled his phone numbers, tore the page out, and handed it to her. "I know you don't want to press charges over what happened tonight, but if ever you need help at any time, just call me. This is my number at home, and this is my number at my station. Fenchurch East."

He turned to go, but she reached for his hand. "God knows what those bastards would have done to me if you hadn't been there. How can I ever thank you?"

"You love your little boy, don't you? My namesake?"

She looked astonished. "Of course I do. He's everything to me." She smiled faintly. "He'll be mad tomorrow when he finds out that I didn't wake him up to meet you. A real, live detective. He loves the police. He wants to be a policeman when he grows up, just like his dad."

Jason smiled. "I'm sure he'll be a very good one. Just like his dad. If you want a way to thank me, then promise me you'll never leave him."

She looked more astonished than ever. "Of course I won't. Whatever made you think I would?"

Jason blushed. "No reflection on you. But my mother was in your situation, bringing me up without a father, and she took to drink and handed me over to a grandfather whom I hated. She thought it would be the best thing for me, but it ruined my life. I - I wouldn't want any other child to go through what I went through."

Her face softened. "How awful for you. But you needn't worry. I'm not letting my Jason go. At least, not until he's grown up. There comes a time when you've got to let them go."

"Oh, of course. But not while he needs you."

She looked like a sleepy tigress defending her cub. "Not while he needs me." Her avowal was marred by a yawn which almost split her head in two.

He squeezed her hand. "Thanks. Good night, Linda. I'll see myself out."

She nodded, with another exhausted smile, and he reluctantly released her hand and tiptoed out.

He descended the stairs and let himself out into the street, tired but elated. He had made a friend of his mother, without letting her know who he really was. Not that she would have believed him, if he had told her. Most importantly, he had her promise that she would not give his younger self up to his grandfather. _Just let Ted Carling come calling now. He'll go away empty-handed. _All the same, doubts teased at the back of his mind. He let them come to the forefront and analysed them.

In the real world, this was the time when, as he had later realised, his mother must have been starting to drink heavily. But this evening, she had appeared perfectly sober while working in the club. He had been watching her all evening, and she had not been sampling the bar's wares. She was sober now. Yet just before the muggers had struck, she had fallen flat on her face as though she were plastered. Why? _Most likely she just slipped on the kerb and was stunned when she fell._

Already there were differences between what had happened in the real world and was happening here. Did this mean that events in this world did not, after all, always follow those in the real world? He had the grim evidence of the Harrods bomb to prove that they did, sometimes. But maybe in this world, his mother would not become a drunkard, and events would work themselves out without his intervention.

This was February 1984. It was in August that his grandfather had taken charge of him in the real world. A lot could happen in six months. He would not be easy in his mind until that dreadful time was past in this world. But he had his mother's promise, and he had won her confidence. His next move must be to protect her and Tommy by smashing the Boiler Room's protection racket, without implicating them.

"DI Collins, isn't it? My word, fancy meeting you in this part of town! Having a night off?"

He started on hearing his name. The speaker was looking out of a car, parked right beside him. His heart sank.

"DCI Morgan?" _Damn. Of all the places to run into a D and C man. _"Good evening, sir. No, I've been meeting a contact. What about you? I wouldn't have thought that this was your scene at all."

"Oh, you're quite right, it isn't." There was something about the man's jocularity which made Jason feel very cold. "I'm doing a spot of surveillance."

"Looking for police officers having a night on the town?" Jason said sourly.

"Oh, no. I think everyone's entitled to let their hair down a bit when off duty, don't you? No, D and C have been receiving claims recently of police corruption in Soho. Officers blackmailing the girls to sleep with them, getting in too deep with the casinos, that sort of thing."

"I see. Well, good hunting." Jason turned to go.

"I'm about to call it a night." Morgan opened his car door invitingly. "It's late, you might have to wait a long time for a bus. Is there anywhere I can take you? To your station, or _home_?"

Jason had the oddest feeling that by "home", Morgan did not mean the top floor flat above Sandro's. He meant something much, much further away. _2010_.

He snapped himself out of it. There was no possible reason why this odd, creepy man should know, or even suspect, that he came from the future.

"No, thanks," he said hastily. "I've got to see someone else before I get back to the station."

"A pity. Well, I'll be off. Good night, DI Collins. We'll be in touch."

"Good night, sir." Jason walked away without waiting for Morgan to close his car door. Behind him, he heard the engine starting and the car moving away.

He'd left himself with a long trek back the station. It was a cold night, and at the end of the journey he would have to interview the Boiler Room Boys before he could go to bed. Perhaps it would have been sensible to accept Morgan's offer. But the thought of being stuck in a car with him, all the way back to Fenchurch East, was distinctly unappealing. He sensed that Morgan would use the journey to engage him in conversation and to pry information from him - and if the discussion, or rather interrogation, turned to his real reason for being in Soho, things could get distinctly awkward. Furthermore, he knew that if he accepted a lift from Morgan, it would give the senior officer a chance to call on him for a favour later on. That too could be awkward, especially given the Guv's rabid dislike of Morgan.

No, Jason decided, pulling his jacket closer about him, the walk home was a small price to pay for not letting Morgan have even the smallest hold over him. The Guv was right. He would keep away from Morgan. As for the Boiler Room Boys, he was already formulating a plan. He would let the desk know that he would interview them in the morning, and then he would go home to bed. Let then stew in their cells for tonight. He knew that without a statement from either Linda or Tommy, he had little chance of being able to charge those bastards for the mugging, so he would only be able to keep them in custody for twenty-four hours. It would be up to him to use the time well.

**TBC**


	19. The Long Way Home

**A/N: Once again, many apologies for not updating sooner. I'd planned to publish this chapter long before now, but domestic problems intervened. Afraid I'm unlikely to update again until early December as I'm committed to a string of music reviews. Keep faith, there's plenty more of this story to come!**

**Once again, thanks are due to my faithful reviewers, Katie Duggan's Niece and LouBelle04. All feedback welcome!**

Gene, Alex, Jackie, Armstrong and Hardwick had to wait for the tribunal's decision. For their different reasons all of them were desperately tense, and none of them felt like talking. Even the normally loquacious Hardwick was silent.

Forty-two minutes later, the door to the meeting room opened and the tribunal members filed out in silence. Alex held her breath. Behind them came the two WPCs, carrying armloads of files, and behind them, DCI Cross, his face mask-like. _Surely that's a good sign? If Litton had been found guilty, Cross would be looking as pleased as Punch._

Behind him came Litton and his lawyer. Alex relaxed. The lawyer was smiling. Litton looked exhausted, but he was carrying it off well. He was not yet back to the cocky bastard she and Gene had met in London, and whom Gene had known in Manchester in days of old, but he was walking tall and there was even the ghost of a swagger there. _He's going to be all right._

Gene rose, and the others followed suit. Litton took the hint and peeled off towards them, with the lawyer in his wake. The tribunal members also halted, leaving Cross conspicuously alone in a No Man's Land between the two groups. There was a brief, awkward silence, which was broken by Maddison approaching Alex.

"DI Drake, it's been a great pleasure to meet you. Would you care to honour us with your presence at dinner tonight?"

Alex smiled sweetly. She felt Gene's eyes boring into her back like ice lasers.

"That's really very kind of you. I'm only too sorry that I can't accept. I've already agreed to have dinner with DCI Hunt this evening, and we must leave early tomorrow morning. We have some cases to discuss."

Maddison deflated, and she could feel the disappointment of the other two, standing behind him. Fulmer's face was as long as Deansgate. _As if I'd allow myself to be alone with three old lechers like you. _

Maddison mastered himself to answer. "Ah, I see. That's a pity. Perhaps if you're ever back in Manchester at any time?"

She made herself smile again, although she was itching with impatience to rejoin Gene and speak to Litton. The men were already talking, and her ears were straining. "Perhaps. But I don't know when, or if, I'll be returning here. Do excuse me, please, gentlemen."

Meanwhile, Gene had advanced, without holding out his hand.

"Well, DCI Queen's Medal Twenty-Five Years' Service Bastard Litton. Are they going to 'ang you up by your thumbs or pin another medal on your unworthy frontage?"

Litton managed a smirk. "Told you I'd be all right, kid."

Gene raised an eyebrow. "So? Smack on the wrist for a naughty boy an' don't do it again?"

Litton stiffened. Alex, joining Gene, could feel the old battle lines being redrawn.

"My suspension's been lifted and I'm returning to duty as soon as the pompous bastard who's my temporary replacement has been crowbarred out of my office," Litton informed him coldly.

Gene's lip curled. "Calling someone else a pompous bastard? Ever heard of the pot an' the kettle, Derek?"

Litton looked ready to burst, and Alex diplomatically stepped into the breach.

"It's good to know that you've been reinstated, Litton," she said, as warmly as she could.

"Yeah, gives the scum of Manchester something for their target practice," Gene said airily, and Alex glared at him. "Haven't answered my question, Derek. 'Ave you been found to be a good boy or a bad boy?"

Litton hesitated. His lawyer slotted smoothly into the gap.

"My client has been found not guilty of complicity in criminal acts perpetrated by his own officers," he intoned. "But - "

"Oh, wrap it up, Marston," Litton snapped. "I've been reprimanded for failing to_ prevent _criminal acts perpetrated by my own officers. Keats's original charge."

"But you've been reinstated," Alex said strongly.

"Yeah." Gene could not help sounding as though he were gloating. "Well done, Derek. You've been proved innocent of deliberate wrongdoing. You're just a dozy bastard who didn't keep a tight enough eye on your team. That's why you've been given another chance to give the public of Greater Manchester the benefit of your twenty-five years' worth of policing expertise." He rolled his eyes. "Poor sods. What 'ave they done to deserve that, eh?"

Alex was beginning to wonder if she would get Gene out of the building without bloodshed. It was obvious to her that Litton had approached Gene to thank him in his own way, yet Gene, true to type, could not resist the temptation to bait him. Fortunately Jackie came to the rescue.

"Congratulations, DCI Litton." She produced her notebook. "Would you care to give a short statement to the readers of the Gazette?"

She drew Litton and his lawyer aside, and Gene and Alex drifted purposefully towards Cross, who still stood on his own, balefully surveying the scene. The tribunal members had left.

"Hunt. Haven't 'ad the displeasure."

"DCI Hunt. DI Drake. Pleased to meet you." Cross's voice was as thin and dessicated as he was, but it held a sibilance which instantly recalled Keats's evil hiss. Alex had to stop herself from shrinking closer to Gene for protection. She'd be damned - literally - if she let Cross see that she was afraid. A woman who had faced down Jim Keats would not be frightened of a Satanic pen-pusher.

"GMP? Which division?" Gene demanded.

"Hyde."

_Of course._

"Daresay you'll 'ave 'eard about us from your coeval, DCI Keats?" Gene's voice was marinaded in distaste, and he managed to make the key word sound like _co-evil_.

"From my former opposite number in London. Yes." Cross's face was still mask-like. Clearly he was being careful not to show any emotion, but Alex had the strangest feeling that he was afraid. _Afraid of us? Or of Keats? Gene said that he's a junior grade devil, and he's just lost Litton. Maybe he's scared that he'll be for the high jump._

" 'Ave you 'eard from 'im lately?" Gene was stone-faced.

"Of course not." Cross looked and sounded shocked. "As you told the tribunal, he vanished in November and has not been heard of since."

"Pity. We want to question 'im regarding the recent riot at Fenchurch Prison. He 'ad contacts on the inside."

"I know that he is wanted for questioning," Cross said carefully. Alex noticed that he did not say whether he knew Keats's current whereabouts. "His defection was a great shock to us. We pride ourselves on our integrity in D&C."

"Disappointed at not getting a result today?"

_Be careful, Gene. That's dangerous ground._

Cross stiffened. "I presented DCI Keats's report to the tribunal. A simple factual account of the case."

Gene growled dangerously.

"Unfortunately," Cross continued, "because he is not available for questioning, and given the fact that he is wanted in connection with another case, the tribunal did not give the report due weight. They wanted corroboration from witnesses, which was not forthcoming. They have given their verdict. DCI Litton was extremely lucky."

Gene raised an eyebrow. "Lucky?"

"So far as he was concerned, DI Bevan's death was fortuitous. It robbed the tribunal of a key witness, without whom it was not possible to prove DCI Litton's implication. He was acquitted in the absence of proof."

Gene glared. "Wasn't so lucky for Bevan."

"A pity. D&C had agreed to bargain with him."

"Immunity in return for information? Protected witness?" Gene said sourly.

"If you will. In his absence, it was not possible to secure a verdict against DCI Litton. The junior members of his team refused to implicate him. Possibly because they were afraid."

Gene bristled. "Afraid of telling the truth for once, more like."

Cross returned glare for glare. "They were in custody and their statements may have been obtained by coercion. I will be seeking further instructions from my superiors. D&C may appeal against the verdict."

Gene looked both malevolent and triumphant. "Snowball in Hell's chance, sunshine."

"We shall see, DCI Hunt. We shall see," Cross returned coldly. "Goodbye. We may meet again."

He scuttled away. Alex, feeling as cold as death, clung to Gene's arm. She looked at him, and his face seemed turned to stone. Cross's final words had been uncomfortably reminiscent of Keats's parting shot outside the Railway Arms.

"Well, now!" Armstrong had approached them unnoticed, and his habitual hearty boom made Alex jump. "This calls for a celebration, an' I promised you a jar or so before you leave. Care to join us in the pub?"

"Pub?" It was entirely characteristic that that should be the word that recalled Gene to himself. "Where d'you go? Not the Trafford Arms, I 'ope," he added with withering scorn.

Armstrong laughed. "God, no. The Nelson."

"_Nelson?_" Gene and Alex exploded together.

"Yeah." Once again, Armstrong looked understandably puzzled by the intensity of their reaction. "Opposite the Art Gallery, halfway between 'ere an' the train station. Not a bad little hole. The team's been using it since that Railway place closed down."

"The Railway Arms?" Alex ventured, Gene still being speechless.

"Yeah, that was it. Come on, we're wasting good drinking time. I've called beer o'clock an' told my team to join us there. Litton, Jackie an' the comic 'ave all agreed to come, I'm giving 'em a lift."

He swept away, driving Litton, Jackie and Hardwick before him. Gene and Alex followed behind, both deep in thought. They were glad that they would not have to share the Quattro with anyone on the way to the pub. There were things that they had to discuss.

-oO0Oo-

"_Bargain_," Alex said, as soon as Gene had started the engine. "Cross said that D&C were prepared to _bargain_ with Bevan. Did you pick that up?"

"Of course I did!" Gene snapped. "I'm not a DCI for nothing!" He put the car into gear. "A devil's bargain. D an' C must 'ave promised Bevan immunity if 'e stitched Litton up for 'em. He'd 'ave jumped at the chance, thought it would get 'im off the hook _and_ give 'im the opportunity to bring Litton down. We thought Keats an' Cross were out to get Litton, but they were using Litton to get Bevan, Warman and 'is team. Must 'ave hoped to get Litton as well, but we've protected 'im."

"And we had a lucky break when we got Jackie's attacker and he implicated Warman and his team," Alex reminded him.

"Yes," Gene admitted. "Poor old Bevan. Didn't stand a chance. The Devil tempted 'im, an' 'e fell for it." His face darkened. "Just like Viv."

Alex could not reply.

"Cross 'ad another message for us, too," Gene went on, a shade too quickly. "He said the tribunal wouldn't accept Keats's report because the Met want 'im for questioning. He's been discredited, both 'ere and in Hell. It'll be a long, long time before 'e can come back as a copper."

"You've said that he can come back in any shape or form he chooses," Alex said, shuddering.

"That's right. Like, a doctor."

"As we've seen today."

"Just like you said that Morgan turned up as Sam's surgeon in the real world."

"But why should Cross warn us? He and Keats are on the same team."

"Yeah, but Keats didn't warn 'im 'e was coming for Bevan. Cross was left with 'is Y-fronts down. He won't 'ave taken kindly to being made to look a prat. Good to know that there can be dissent in the ranks of Hell, Bolly. Who knows, we may be able to exploit that one day. All your divide-an' conquer bollocks."

The Nelson Tavern proved to be a respectable-looking small pub on the street corner opposite the Art Gallery. Its sign bore a fine portrait of the great admiral. A signpost pointing to Hyde stood on the opposite side of the road. When Gene and Alex walked in, Armstrong had already commandeered the largest table, which had Jackie, Hardwick, a highly uncomfortable Litton and most of Armstrong's team around it. Armstrong introduced them to anyone they did not already know, bellowed at everyone until they budged up to make room for the newcomers, grabbed chairs for them, and bought them drinks. The landlord, a mild little man, clearly knew Armstrong and his team well, and kept the table supplied with repeat orders throughout the evening. Soon Gene was ensconced on the opposite side of the table to Alex, happily exchanging memories with former members of his team, although she noticed how he tried to avoid any mention of Sam or Annie. She also noticed how proudly he introduced her to his ex-colleagues, and how he relished their obvious envy. For a large part of the time, Alex found her attention claimed by Connie, the only woman detective in Armstrong's team, who was awestruck at meeting a female DI and plied her with questions about her experiences with the Met.

When Connie left the table to get another drink, Alex turned her attention to DI Ian Hill, who sat on her other side. She had been intrigued by the fact that Armstrong had described Hill as their psychologist. _Another DI who's a psychologist. He must be what Gene calls "one of us", but is he another one who's in a coma and remembers that he's from the future? It happened to Sam, to me, and then to Jason, so might it apply to Armstrong's DI too?_

They spent some time discussing psychological techniques and trends without her getting anything which definitely marked him out as a man from the future, before he said regretfully, "It's a shame about Warman. On the occasions I've worked with him, he seemed to have real potential. If I could have detached him from Bevan's team, I'd hoped that I might have been able to teach him something about psychological profiling. Such a waste."

"He and his team deserve everything they're going to get," Alex said firmly.

"Yes, but now they'll be hit harder than they would have been if Bevan had been alive to take the flak. Just as I still think Rose West got a heavier sentence than she would have done if Fred hadn't committed suicide."

_Bingo._

"Who?"

"Oh - er, a case I worked on at Hyde."

_Gotcha._

The evening wore on, and gradually the members of Armstrong's team drifted away. Alex gathered that several had families and would have to be up early for the school run. She noticed that Hill left with Connie. _It always happens. Sam and Annie, Chris and Shaz, Gene and I, Jason and Lisa... There's no end to it. If they can make each other happy during their time here, that's the main thing._

Eventually the only ones left were Gene, Alex, Litton, Armstrong, Jackie and Hardwick. It was late, and apart from them, the pub was empty. Gene had moved back to the other side of the table to sit with Alex. Jackie, who had been having a whale of a time chatting up members of Armstrong's team and establishing a network of useful contacts, was sitting opposite them, between Armstrong and Hardwick. Litton sat in solitary splendour at the far end of the table, nursing a pint and looking more uncomfortable than ever.

"Eh, come on Derek!" Armstrong bellowed. "It's your celebration, not your funeral. You look like you've lost a collar an' found a parking ticket. Come over 'ere an' sit with us! It's your round, you miserable daft bugger."

Unwillingly, Litton rose, picked up his glass, and came slowly down the side of the table. He sat in a vacant chair opposite Gene, and they studiously avoided one anothers' gazes.

"Right!" Armstrong rubbed his hands. "Now, then, Jackie, wouldn't you say there's someone very important missing right now? A very important little lady?"

Jackie smiled. "Vicky? She's safe at home with your wife, I hope."

"Wrong." Armstrong made a dramatic gesture, and, bang on cue, the pub door opened and Glen wheeled in the pushchair with Vicky on board. Seeing her mother, she cried out and held out her arms to her.

"Oh, darling!" In a flash, Jackie was out of her chair and kneeling beside the pushchair, hugging her daughter. Alex swallowed hard and had to look away for a moment. She was surprised to feel Gene's hand sliding into hers beneath the table. He was not usually given to expressing sympathy in public.

"Got a call earlier this evening to say that Forensics 'ave finished with your flat an' it's been cleaned up," Armstrong said with great satisfaction. "I rang Glen an' got 'im to collect Vicky for you. 'Is car's outside, an' 'e'll take you 'ome whenever you're ready."

"Oh, thank you!" Jackie hugged Vicky again, put her back in the pushchair, and stood up. "Thank you so much for everything, DCI Armstrong."

"John, please."

Jackie dimpled. "Thank you, John, and please thank your wife from both of us."

"I'll do that, love."

"I'll be in touch about that interview." She turned to Gene and Alex. "And thank you both, a thousand times. Vicky and I owe our lives to you."

"No trouble," Alex said firmly.

"You got yourself in trouble when you should 'ave kept your pretty little 'ead down," Gene was as gruff as ever. Alex noticed that Hardwick had left his seat and was crouching by the pushchair, playing with Vicky while the adults talked. "You're a trouble magnet. Always 'ave been, always will be."

"We were just doing our jobs, Jackie," Alex said lightly. "Just like you."

"Yeah. An' if you want to thank _us_, try not doing an 'atchet job on the police once in a while, eh?"

Jackie's eyes twinkled. "I'll consider it, Mr Hunt. Goodbye, and thank you both." She hugged and kissed them both, somewhat to Gene's confusion, and took charge of the pushchair. Vicky waved and called out, "Bye-bye, Uncle Fwankie!"

"'Bye, precious." Hardwick got to his feet with some difficulty and waved back. "See you again soon."

Alex noticed that as Jackie wheeled the pushchair out, she and Glen were already deep in conversation, and that they were smiling at each other.

_Well, why not? Vicky could do with a father_ _figure, and it doesn't look as though her own father is a part of their lives any more. Any more than Pete was after he left Molly and me. It might not work, but why shouldn't they give it a try?_

The party had shrunk to five. Perhaps it was Jackie's departure, and the knowledge that whatever he said would not automatically end up on the front page of the late edition, that finally loosened Gene's tongue.

"Well, Derek. Chance to start over. A new leaf, with a new team. Only this time, keep a close watch on 'em so's you can stamp out trouble as soon as you smell it. You've 'ad more wool pulled over your eyes than a sheep at shearing time."

"Yeah." Litton lowered his eyes for a moment, then resolutely raised them and met Gene's. "Thanks, Geno. You an' your lady friend took a risk for me. Needn't 'ave done that."

"You told me to tell the truth, an' that's exactly what I did," Gene said decisively. "You're not corrupt, Litton. You're a lying little bastard weasel-boy, an' you're a prat, but you're not a corrupt prat."

Litton's ears began to turn pink, but before the flush could spread to the rest of his expressive countenance, Gene raised his glass.

"I'll give you a toast, Derek. The good old days. Not many of us left."

"The good old days." They clinked glasses and drank. Looking very sombre, Litton raised his glass. "I'll give you another, Geno. Absent friends. Ray. Chris. Phyllis. Annie." He paused. "Tyler."

Gene bowed his head for a moment, then raised his glass again. "Viv."

"Shaz," Alex added, raising her glass. All three clinked glasses and drank. For a few moments, there was a deep, reflective silence, and Alex sensed an accord between the two men which had not been there before. Perhaps, after all, this might be the end to their feuding.

"Right." Litton set his glass down. "And as you once said to me, now bugger off back to London."

"Not quite yet." Gene's face was granite-like as he refilled everyone's glasses. "I 'aven't finished. Another toast, lady an' gentlemen." He raised his glass. "To DCI Derek Litton an' 'is new team."

"To Litton." Alex raised her glass and drank.

"I'll drink to that." Armstrong drank.

"I'll drink to anything." Hardwick followed suit.

Gene set his glass down. "An' God 'elp all who sail in 'er." Before Litton could flare up, he leaned across the table and added, "An' talking of your new team, I've a proposition to put to you both."

"Should I be scared?" Litton said sceptically.

Armstrong winked. "Listen to what the nice man's got to say before you run."

"Ta." Gene was perfectly serious now. "DC Fletcher's done bloody well on this case. He watched Jackie's flat on 'is own initiative an' saved the place from an arson attack. She an' Vicky weren't at 'ome, but if the fire 'ad spread, it could 'ave torched the whole block. God knows 'ow many deaths an' injuries he stopped. Then 'e nailed the arsonist an' got the confession out of 'im that clinched the case against Warman an' 'is jovial crew. An' this isn't the first time 'e's done the hero act. Came to Tyler's and my rescue once when a bastard with a gun 'ad us cornered."

"Yeah, he's done well," Armstrong agreed, and drained his glass. "He'll be in line for a commendation for bravery."

"He'd prefer a promotion." Gene looked from one DCI to the other. "How about it? Armstrong's got a DC who deserves to be a DS. Litton needs a new team. Including a DS."

Armstrong rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You're right. I'll be sorry to lose the lad, 'e's done good work while 'e's been in my team, but I can't stand in 'is way. He deserves to get on. What d'you say, Litton?"

All eyes turned to Litton. He looked embarrassed, and Alex thought that she could guess why.

_Oh, God_. _Litton's even more of a dinosaur than Gene. What if he's even more prejudiced than Ray was in his Manchester days? If Glen thinks he has it tough in CID, working for Litton could be ten times worse._

"Remember, you owe 'im one," Gene added.

There was a short, tense silence. Litton glared "No, I don't." There was sharp intake of breath all round. He cracked a grin. "I owe 'im several."

Everyone relaxed. Armstrong clapped him on the back, making him spill his wine. Alex fairly glowed with pride. _I didn't even have to tell Gene that Glen will become Deputy Chief Constable in the real world. He recognises potential when he sees it. Glen's on his way. And who would have thought that it would be Gene, the most politically incorrect cop in any of the worlds, who'd get him started? _

Gene raised his glass again. "Well done, Derek. Another toast. To the good new days an' what they bring. We've still got things to learn, adventures to 'ave."

There was a furtive tear in Alex's eye as she recognised the words with which Gene had rallied her, after the deaths of her parents. _That's a sign that Litton isn't going to the Railway Arms just yet. But he will, one day._

Litton raised his glass in return. "The good new days." They both drank, and the others followed suit.

"Right." Armstrong set his glass down."Much though I 'ate to break up the party, I've an early shift tomorrow. The brief'll be coming for the Shudehill blaggers, an' I want to interview 'em first. I'm convinced one of 'em knows Tommy Trotter, an' if we could only nail Tommy for that shoe warehouse raid in Salford - "

"What about 'is gun-running?" Litton demanded. "Stolen shotguns are Crime's jurisprudence."

"I'll remind you that Tommy killed the night watchman on that raid, but 'is brief got 'im off - "

"Trotter's ours, Armie!"

"Now, now, children." Gene's face wore its most sardonic smile."If you're going to fight over a bastard you 'aven't even collared yet, take it outside."

"Yeah." Armstrong simmered down and got to his feet. "Come on, Litton. Your motor's still in the GMP car park. I'll drive you back there. We can scrap over Trotter on the way."

"Yeah." Litton rose. "An' talk some more about promoting Fletcher." He was about to leave, but turned back. "'Bye, Holmes an' Watson. Thanks for everything. _Now_ bugger off home."

"Will do." After some hesitation, Gene held out his hand, and after even more hesitation, Litton took it. "But if GMP needs me, you know I'll be back. I'm needed, an' I'm there."

Despite everything, it was an uncomfortable moment, and both were clearly relieved when Gene released Litton's hand, managing not to show any distaste. Armstrong stepped into the breach.

"Goodbye, Hunt." He gripped Gene's hand warmly. "Goodbye, DI Drake. It's been a pleasure meeting you both. I'll be in touch if any of your bastards ever come up our way. Come on, Litton."

The two men left, and Gene turned a stunned expression on Alex. "_Holmes and Watson?_"

Alex laughed. "Well, Sherlock Holmes does smoke, but it's a pipe, not fags."

"He also plays the violin an' takes drugs. Poof." Gene radiated disgust.

"I haven't served in the army in Afghanistan, if it comes to that."

A chuckle from the end of the table reminded them that they were not yet alone.

"Hardwick! Haven't you got an 'ome to go to?"

Hardwick grinned ruefully. "Like the ten little indians, innit? Three little coppers, all in a row..."

"Copper? You? Perish the thought." Gene looked outraged.

"I was, once," Hardwick said earnestly.

"_You?_ Then 'ow come you've ended up a comic as blue as a Danish cheese?"

"My Dad was a copper, and his Dad before him," Hardwick said sadly. "I hated the idea. Always knew I wanted to be an entertainer, ever since I was a kid. But Dad wasn't having any of that. As soon as I turned eighteen, I had to join the Force. Didn't have any choice. Couldn't afford to leave home, so I had to do as he told me. I stuck it for six months. Then I won first prize one night at a police talent contest. A scout for a top agent was in the audience, and he offered me a contract. I signed it at once and never looked back. My Dad never forgave me. I was never allowed to come home or contact him or my family again." There was a great sorrow in his eyes.

"But you got the career you wanted. The life you wanted," Alex said gently.

"Yeah, and a fat lot of good it's done me or anyone else." Hardwick gulped his wine down, and Gene refilled his glass. "Dad was right. I've wasted my life."

"He would have thought that way, because he was a copper," Alex said encouragingly. "But entertaining people, making them happy, that's important too."

"And all I've got to show for it is an empty shit-hole of a bedsit in Wythenshawe to go home to at night." Hardwick slumped, defeated.

"But you have your children. You told us about them."

"_Had_," Hardwick said bitterly."Lost 'em. All my fault. The wife couldn't take my boozing and my bits on the side any longer. I was away on tour a lot. She complained because we never saw each other. I sent her the money home, thought that was enough. I came home from a gig one night and found the house dark and empty. All her things gone, all the kids' things gone. She'd left me and taken them with her. No address, nothing, no way of knowing where they'd gone. I'd lost everything that mattered. Nothing left. That was when I - JESUS!"

"What's up?" Gene said sourly. "Wine turned to anti-freeze?"

"Th-that was when I chucked myself out of the window." Hardwick's voice was barely a whisper.

A glance of unbelievable intensity passed between Gene and Alex.

"Bounced, did you?" For all his apparent flippancy, Gene was alert.

Hardwick's face was white. "No, no, you don't understand! The window was sixty feet up. Tower block. I topped myself." He looked piteously at Gene. "I'm dead."

"You look all right to me," Gene said drily.

"But - but what is this place? Why am I here?"

"Frank - " Alex reached out and touched his arm, but he shook her off.

"We - we're all - " He broke down and sobbed. The landlord approached, concerned.

"Is your friend all right?"

"He's pissed," Gene said quietly. "Talking bollocks. Don't worry, I'll get 'im out of 'ere for you." The landlord nodded and withdrew.

Gene took charge. "Frankie-boy, you come with us. We'll find you a better boozer than this. I know a pub that's _always_ open. _The_ pub."

Hardwick looked up, tears running down his face. "But - "

"No buts, unless you're turning into a goat. Bolly."

Gene and Alex rose and hauled Hardwick to his feet. He was trembling and too weakened by shock to resist. Alex silently thanked God that Hardwick had not had his revelation any earlier, when more people would have been around to hear.

"Come with us, Frank," she coaxed him, as though he were a child. "You'll be safe with us. Come on, now."

Her gentle voice seemed to soothe him a little, and between them she and Gene got Hardwick out of the door. It was a crisp, cold night, and he shivered violently as she wrapped his discarded overcoat around his shoulders. They guided him to the Quattro and loaded him into the front passenger seat. Alex sat in the back, and Gene drove off. At first, Hardwick seemed too dazed to notice what was happening, but after a few minutes he looked at Gene.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the pub. The boozer. Our boozer. Not far now."

Hardwick submitted passively to his fate. It was as though he were being taken to his execution. Nothing mattered any more.

_This is how it must have been for Ray, Chris and Shaz when they learned the truth about this world. At least I always remembered where I came from. _

Gene guided them unerringly through a maze of streets. Alex, unfamiliar with the area, could not have said where they were, and Hardwick was past caring. They turned a corner, and a small, familiar pub stood before them, bathed in moonlight which was eclipsed by the intense white light shining from every window. Alex felt a pang of terror at the sight, but quickly suppressed it.

_I'm not going in this time. I'm not going back there until Gene comes with me._

They got out of the car, and Hardwick stood gazing at the pub. At first, he showed only blank incomprehension, then a smile of understanding spread slowly across his face. He looked utterly peaceful, utterly content.

Humbly, he turned to Gene."But - but it's not for me..."

"Bollocks," Gene growled. "Once a copper, always a copper. Get in there an' order your first round, you cut-price antidote to Roy Hudd."

Hardwick took a couple of faltering steps towards the pub, then stopped and looked back.

"What _now_?" Gene barked.

"Aren't you two coming in?"

Alex smiled. "No, not right now."

Gene curled his arm around Alex's waist, and she returned the favour. "We've already 'ad a round set up for us. Tell the landlord to leave our drinks on the bar."

Hardwick smiled and nodded. "I will. Goodbye. And thanks for everything."

"Only doing our jobs." Gene was stone-faced. "Off you trot."

Hardwick turned and walked slowly towards the pub. Gene and Alex stood, watching him go. He paused with his hand on the door handle, turned back, and waved. Alex smiled and waved back, and after a prod from her, Gene followed suit. Hardwick opened the door, releasing a blinding flood of white light, and the inevitable sounds of Bowie emerged. He hesitated for a moment, afraid even now, then squared his shoulders and walked inside. The door swung to and the light faded a little.

Gene released Alex and shook his head. "What 'ave I _done_, Bolly?"

"Just what you said to Hardwick," she said gently. "You've done your job."

"The others'll barbecue us for this when we get in there. The place'll be full of second-rate blue jokes. Shaz an' Annie'll kill 'im if Phyllis doesn't."

Alex smiled. "He'll be in his element. Giving impromptu gigs, organising talent shows, singsongs, karaoke... It'll take some of the pressure off Nelson. Maybe he'll even help out behind the bar."

"Ray'll 'ave beaten 'im to that," Gene grunted. He looked at the pub one more time, then down at Alex. "Come 'ere." He swept her into his embrace, and she willingly moulded herself against him. "Good three days' work."

"I should say so. A soul has been saved, we rescued Jackie and Vicky, Litton will be all right, he has a new sparring partner, his corrupt team's been nicked, Glen's career has been launched - I haven't told you, he became Deputy Chief Constable in the real world - "

"Bloody 'ell!"

"It shows how good you are at recognising potential. _And_ we've found another Guardian. Well done, Guv."

"An' tomorrow, back to London to find out if Collins an' Co 'ave managed to burn the station down." She noticed that he did not say _back home_. "I 'ope to God Morgan 'asn't been around."

She stroked his brow with one finger. "Tomorrow's another bastard day. But we have tonight. Let's make the most of it."

He grinned. "Just one problem."

"Oh, what's that?"

"Yesterday an' today I promised myself I'd spend all day walking behind you to get a grandstand view of your arse in that skirt. 'Ow come you've managed to be behind me all the time?"

"It comes of your being my superior officer, I'm afraid. But if you care to take me back to the hotel, you can follow me around our bedroom for as long as you like..." she gave her wickedest grin, "until you catch me."

His grip on her tightened. "Shouldn't take too long. An' you still 'aven't told me, tights or stockings under that lot?"

She looked wickeder than ever. "I told you yesterday morning that if you were very good or very, _very _ bad, you might just get to find out."

"An' 'ave I?"

She smiled. "Come back to the hotel and let's discuss it."

He dipped his head and kissed her, slowly, tenderly, deeply, feeling her fingers tangling in his hair. The previous night, after the loss of Bevan's soul, he had been sunk in despair, but now, with a job well done and a soul sent home, he felt filled with exultation at the richness of living, with a longing to lose himself utterly in the sweet, soft body of the glorious woman in his arms. His equal. His other self. His Bolly. The kiss deepened as they clung closer, and the moon bathed them in silver light. Eventually, reluctantly, he raised his head.

"Hotel. Now. Or I'll be arresting us for 'aving sex in a public place."

She smiled up at him and loosened her hold, sliding her hands down his chest. "Can't have that." A cloud of sorrow passed across her face as she realised that she had inadvertantly used the very words with which he had dismissed her, the last time they stood together in front of the pub. He saw and understood.

"Aren't bad, though, are we?"

His words sang in her blood. _He said _weren't _before, when he sent me inside. No parting now. Not ever. _She reached up and stroked his full, soft lips with her thumb. "Unbreakable," she whispered.

"Unbreakable." He repeated the word as though recording a vow.

One more lingering kiss, and they moved towards the car, their arms still around one anothers' waists. Neither noticed the dark figure watching them from the shadows.

He could not regret the soul he had just lost. It was too petty for his notice. He had already collected his due, and his time was running out. He wished most ardently that he had been allowed to remain for longer. But some day his punishment would be worked out at last, and then he would return, and he would annihilate them both. He would break their hearts and their minds. He would shrivel their souls within their bodies until there was nothing left for him to take. He would wipe away every trace of their existence from this world and all of the worlds. There would be no end to his hatred, even when he had destroyed them utterly.

Instinctively, he stepped forward, his fist clenched, but at that moment a church clock close by struck midnight, and he stopped, frustrated. Time was up, and he had to go. He hissed softly as he watched the Quattro drive away.

"_We'll meet again..._"

**TBC**

**A/N: The Nelson Tavern is a genuine pub in Stockport, opposite the Art Gallery (which hosted a memorable "Life on Mars" exhibition in 2008) and midway between Stopford House, the building used for the GMP headquarters in LOM, and Stockport railway station – and there really is a signpost to Hyde on the other side of the road. There's a picture in the LOM folder on my Photobucket account. I believe that the Nelson must have been the original inspiration for the Railway Arms and its proprietor - the name cannot be a coincidence! I looked in when I was in Stockport for the exhibition, but alas, Sam and Gene weren't there… **


	20. Boiled

**A/N: A thousand pardons for the delay since I posted the last chapter. I'd intended to resume posting early in the New Year, but working overtime and the chaos caused by a new laptop, installing programs, transferring data, losing vital e-mails which I've only just managed to retrieve, the slowing of my broadband speeds, re-cabling my flat for a new router, and having to review compteen passwords due to Heartbleed, have all put paid to my fanficcing actvities for months. On resuming I'd intended to give priority to the final chapter of "Charity at Christmas", but as that isn't finished yet (it's going to be very long and I keep thinking of things to add to it), and in view of the increased level of interest in TBOAE in the past couple of months, I've decided to get this story relaunched first. So here's the next chapter, and I'll update both fics as soon as I can.**

**A quick reminder of what's been going on over the past few chapters: Gene and Alex have been in Manchester as witnesses at DCI Litton's disciplinary tribunal. Thanks to their testimony and to confessions from DI Bevan's corrupt team, Litton was acquitted, but Bevan died mysteriously in Strangeways hospital while attended by a doctor whom, Gene and Alex realise, was Keats in disguise. Meanwhile, Jason has taken advantage of their absence to find his mother at the nightclub in Soho where she works. He and the club bouncer saved her from being mugged by a gang from a rival club, **_**The Boiler Room**_**. Jason has arrested them, but his mother and the bouncer are afraid to testify for fear of reprisals, and he has had to promise not to involve them. Now he has less than twenty-four hours to find evidence to enable him to charge the muggers...**

**Sorry, Gene and Alex aren't in this chapter (it takes place on the same day as Chapter 19, while they're still in Manchester) - I'm giving Jason and the CID boys a chance to shine. Galex service will resume in the next chapter!**

**So many thanks to everyone who's been reading this story in the past few months, I'm quite gobsmacked by the level of attention it's received. Especial thanks to those who've posted reviews since the last chapter, it means so much. (An particular thank-you to original-star-girl-78 - FIVE reviews all at once, you made my day!) If anyone feels like reviewing this chapter, please, please give in to the urge...**

The morning after his visit to Soho, Jason was in the station bright and early.

"Morning, Paul."

"Good morning, Sir. There was a message from the Guv after you left last night. He and DI Drake will have to spend at least one more day at the tribunal in Manchester. Something to do with one of the witnesses having died suddenly."

"Thanks for telling me." Jason felt buoyant. _This will be my investigation. I can deal with the Boiler Room in my own way._ "How are last night's captives doing?"

"The four brought in from the Soho mugging, Sir? Gave their names as Johnny Crawford, Lance Mont and Gary and Teddy Rawdon. Brothers. I checked the records, they don't appear to have come onto our radar before. They're a bit off our usual patch, seem surprised to have been brought here and not to Soho Square station."

"Well, they're here because I happened to be passing when they were mugging someone. Sounds as though they may have form at Soho Square, then. Have a word with your oppo there. If they do have form, and there are any files, ask Soho Square to send them over here tout suite. Send a uniform to collect them if necessary."

"Roger that, Sir. All four have had their phone calls. They all called their boss, and he's sending his lawyer. Sounds quite high-powered."

"Mercedes and designer suit?"

Paul grimaced. "Sounds more like dark glasses and offer-you-can'ta-refuse to me, Sir."

"I _see_."

"I made a point of putting them all in separate cells so that they can't collude on a story, Sir."

"Good work, Skip." He clapped him on the shoulder. "See you soon."

He passed down the corridor into the main office, where Lisa was already hard at work, clattering away on her typewriter. She looked up as he entered.

"Morning, _Sir_. Any luck last night?"

"Yes. Could you do me a favour?"

"Sure."

"Get onto the secretary of the Soho Residents' Association and ask them to fax a list of shops and restaurants in the area, with names, addresses and phone numbers. The sooner the better. I nicked four muggers there last night. They're sitting ugly in the cells and we need some information to help us nail them before their lawyer can get them out."

"Is it worth a drink tonight?"

"A large one."

"You're on. Those must be the four in the mugshots we've just had back from the developers."

"Great. Get photocopies for everyone, and when the list is in from Soho, copy that for all of us as well. And find the map of the Soho area in the A to Z and blow it up as large as you can. Then put one copy of everything on the whiteboard. Mark out the area into ten sections, and allocate two of us to each section. Leave Cotsey and I out of the list."

Her eyes widened. "Roger that."

Knowing that the lawyer would be coming soon, Jason interviewed the Boiler Room Boys as soon as he had given Lisa her instructions. As expected, all four refused to say anything without a lawyer present. He guessed that their boss had probably instructed them to keep schtum if arrested. The lawyer duly arrived at 9.45. Mr Earnshaw did not look as Mafioso as Paul had anticipated. Short, stocky and bullet-headed, with little piggy eyes magnified by thick, black-rimmed glasses, Jason instantly diagnosed him as a tough customer.

"Good morning, Mr Earnshaw. Would you care to step into the interview room? Skip, please tell Cotsey to join us and then fetch Crawford. We'll interview him first."

"This is outrageous! My clients have been unlawfully detained by the police under the very flimsiest pretext!"

Jason skilfully guided the irate brief into Interview Room One. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Earnshaw, but they were arrested while trying to rob a woman outside a nightclub in Lower John Street."

Mr Earnshaw did not take the chair which Jason indicated to him, but stood so close that his spectacles nearly grazed Jason's nose, and glared into his eyes. "Do you have a witness statement?"

"The victim was not well enough to give a statement last night," Jason stated truthfully. "My team will remedy that today." _And just because I'm young and look quite gentle doesn't mean that I'm a pushover, Buster._ He wondered whether this man knew the Guv. As the Boiler Room Boys were usually on Soho Square's patch, quite possibly not. An idea was stirring in the back of his mind, but he was not yet at liberty to give it his attention. He filed it away for later.

"So how do I know that this _victim_ even exists?" Mr Earnshaw said coldly.

"Because I effected the arrests," Jason said smoothly.

"My point, _Inspector. _Young men like my clients, trying to earn a living in the bright lights of London, are the stock-in-trade of police stations struggling to justify their existence by raising their so-called clean-up rates."

"Are you accusing me of fabricating the charges against your clients?" Jason was very still. "That would be a very serious matter." _And could bring D&C down on our heads. Complete with DCI Morgan. Whom I met in Soho last night. Is there a connection here?_

Before Earnshaw could reply, they were interrupted by a tap on the door, and Cotsey entered.

"Sorry to interrupt, Boss. Skip's got Crawford outside."

"Excellent. Tell him to bring him in. Please take a seat, Mr Earnshaw."

Inevitably, all four interviews were deeply disappointing. It was not just that all four suspects exercised to the full their right to remain silent. Any attempt by Jason or Cotsey to so much as formulate a meaningful question or seek a response was scuppered by Earnshaw's talent to abuse.

"DI Collins, what you detectives fail to realise, safe in your hermetically sealed concrete and glass refuges, is that the common man can only take so much from your over-mighty arrogance! Have none of you learned the lessons of Brixton? Has anyone here so much as heard of Lord Scarman or Operation Countryman?"

Jason knew that outrageous protection of the client was part of the lawyer's stock-in-trade, but nonetheless Earnshaw's behaviour was unusual. It was as though he did not want to give his clients the chance to respond or even hear what was being said to them. At last Jason gave it up as a bad job and had all four returned to the cells. Much to Earnshaw's rage, he refused to release them.

"Your clients are assisting the police with our inquiries. Our investigation is ongoing. As you are aware, we are within our rights to detain them for up to twenty-four hours."

Earnshaw was practically foaming at the mouth. "This outrage will drag the name of the Metropolitan Police through the mud! You are aware that you run the risk of being sued for wrongful arrest?"

"I think that that would be a little premature before the twenty-four hours is up, don't you? Good day, Mr Earnshaw."

After Earnshaw had left, breathing fire, Cotsey turned to Jason. "So, what do we do now, Boss? We haven't got a witness statement. If we can't get any evidence, we'll _have _ to let them go tonight. It'll be worse than if we'd let 'em go now."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Jason said grimly. "Come on, let's see if Lisa and Paul have anything for us yet."

They emerged into the corridor, to be met by Paul. "Boss. I was just coming to find you. Been talking to Sean Merry, the new Skip at Soho Square."

"And?"

"He's looked at the records. Crawford, Mont and the Rawdon brothers are in and out of his station like a fiddler's elbow. Funny thing is, they're always released without charge."

"Interesting. _Very_ interesting." The idea at the back of his mind jumped to attention. "Good work, Skip. You've confirmed my suspicion. Cotsey, with me."

As they walked into the office, Lisa came forward, waving several sheets of fax paper. "I've got the details from the Soho Association with everything you wanted. I've done the copies and lists and fired up the whiteboard."

Jason smiled. Even Lisa was starting to talk in the Guv's idiom. "Brilliant. RIGHT! Gather round, everyone. We have scum to nail."

The detectives and Lisa duly assembled, and Jason took his place beside the board.

"Lads and lady, listen up. I went to Soho last night looking for a new contact. Didn't show, but I arrested four muggers. They're cooling their heels in the cells. Problem is, the victim ran off while I was arresting the bastards, and there weren't any witnesses. There was a free fight going on, and with me in plain clothes she might have thought I was another mugger. We need evidence to put the four of them inside. So far, we know their names. Johnny Crawford, Lance Mont and Gary and Teddy Rawdon." He pointed to each photo in turn as he spoke the name. "The last two are brothers. We also know that they work as bouncers at a nightclub called the Boiler Room, which is why they're collectively known as the Boiler Room Boys. The club's in Great Marlborough Street, which is in Soho Square's patch. Now, their boss's lawyer was here this morning, trying to get them out, and Cotsey will bear me out that his behaviour was right outside Queensberry rules."

All eyes turned to Cotsey, who nodded. "Yeah. Wouldn't let 'em get a word in edgeways. Just kept ranting an' raving."

"He did have some right on his side," Jason continued. "We're detaining them without evidence. It's my word against theirs. But Paul says that when they first came in here, they seemed surprised that they weren't at Soho Square. And Paul's oppo at Soho Square has told him that these four get booked in there regularly but are always released without charge." There was a stir among his listeners. "Now, what does that sound like to you?"

"Sounds like their boss is giving bungs to someone at Soho Square," Terry said grimly.

"An' that's why the lawyer wanted 'em to keep quiet," Cotsey added eagerly. "So they wouldn't blow the gaff."

"We've 'ad corruption trouble in Soho before," Poirot added. "When PC Irvine was topped in that club by PC Hales. Mac was behind that."

"Cop killing cop," Slate put in. "Nasty business."

"The word on the street last night was that the Boiler Room's got a protection racket. Which would fit with their being protected by Soho Square. And I saw that D&C man, DCI Morgan, there last night," Jason added on an inspiration. "He told me that they've been having complaints of police corruption in Soho."

"So what do we do, Boss?" Bammo queried. "Can't just leave it to D&C."

"Over my dead body." Jason said it before realising that he could have chosen a better phrase. "Lisa's got us this list of names and addresses from the Soho Residents' Association. We don't know anything about the mugging victim, she may not even live in the area, so we'll see if we can get anything from the locals. We've only got until 2 a.m. tomorrow to charge the suspects, that's when Paul booked them in here. We'll start by making enquiries at all the clubs and other businesses, show them the mugshots, and say that the Boiler Room Boys are in custody following a mugging last night. With any luck, once they know the bastards are under arrest, someone may spill about the protection racket. As the lawyer's bound to have told the boss at the Boiler Room that he hasn't been able to spring the boys, he may be sending out extra enforcement to tell the locals to keep quiet, so we'll have to work fast."

"Why don't we just go for the boss at the Boiler Room, then?" Davies asked.

"Believe me, I'd love to, but we haven't got any evidence against him yet. We have to concentrate on making a case against the four we've got. As soon as we get anything on him, we'll be on to him. You'll be working in pairs, and Lisa's allocated an area to each pair. Leave Great Marlborough Street, and _especially_ don't go near the Boiler Room. Cotsey and I will stay in the Cavalier in Golden Square. The lawyer knows us, and he could have passed our descriptions back to his boss. If anyone gets any information, come and tell us. I'm imposing radio silence except for emergencies, in case anyone at Soho Square listens in. Right, gentlemen, saddle up."

-oO0Oo-

Terry and Slate had been allocated Brewer Street. By prior agreement, they decided to take one side of the street each. "Give us the chance to cover twice as many places in the time the others'll take," Slate opined. "The Boss said we've got to work fast." Terry was not so sure. If Soho was full of bouncers who were in league with Soho Square nick, it would be safer to face them as a team. But he allowed himself to be persuaded, only to see Slate disappearing into a nightclub and leaving him to deal with the modest little café on the other side of the road.

"Jammy bastard," he muttered, approaching the café. It was empty and there was a Closed sign on the door. He looked through the window. The place was empty. He was about to turn away when he caught sight of a tea urn behind the counter, with steam pouring merrily from its top vent. _Now, why would they brew up and then close the shop? _Tentatively, he tried the door handle, and to his surprise it opened. He stole inside and noiselessly closed the door behind him.

The counter stood to the right. At its far end was a closed door, which he guessed led to a kitchen, or maybe an office. He cautiously lifted the counter flap, crept behind the counter, and approached the door. He could hear voices. The first was a woman's, very distressed. Foreign, he thought.

"But, sir, I cannot afford to give you any more money! This café makes so little - "

"Isn't that just your unlucky day, then, Sita?" A man's voice, gruff and menacing.

"But if I give you more, I will not be able to afford to keep this place open! I will have to close, and then you will get no more from me."

"Oh, well." The man sounded horrifyingly jocular. "If you want a repeat of what 'appened last time, with extra bells and whistles - "

"No!"

"Yeah, shame your hubby carked it, wasn't it?" A heartrending sob. "He couldn't stand the heat. Neither can you. So pay up or get out of the kitchen!"

"No, please, no - "

There was a sound of breaking china. Terry tried the door, and much to his surprise it flew open, to reveal a big, dark, heavy-set man looming over a terrified Asian lady in her mid-forties, who had backed against the wall. A tray of crockery had been overturned, and bits of shattered china were strewn all over the floor.

"Police," Terry announced. "Got any trouble, love?"

The man looked astonished. "Who the hell are you?"

"Proper police," Terry proclaimed proudly. "You're nicked."

"Sod that." The man lunged for him. Terry met him with a magnificent haymaker. The man reeled backwards and charged at him. Terry sidestepped at the last moment, grabbed him by his collar as he shot by, and rammed his head into the door. His assailant struggled free and lunged at his face. Terry grabbed one wrist, twisting it viciously, and swung away. His assailant followed him round, but Terry had spotted the woman creeping up behind them. She brought a tin tray down on his assailant's head with stunning force. It sounded a perfect F sharp, and he dropped to the ground, out cold.

"Nice work, love." Terry sat on his captive and cuffed him. "Fancy a job in the Specials?"

The woman was trembling. "Oh, thank you, whoever you are, thank you. He told me to lock the door, and I pretended to, but I left it unlocked and prayed that someone would come to help me. And you came."

"Always trust a copper."

She looked puzzled, even mistrustful. "You are police? But the police never help."

"We do." He hauled his captive to his feet and dumped him onto a chair. "Detective Constable Terry Munroe. Pleased to meet you. I gather this bastard's been demanding money with menaces?"

"Always." A tear stole down her cheek. "They always want more. Take more. They took my husband."

_We're on to something here._ "Care to give us a statement? Then we can bang this bastard up an' he won't trouble you or any of your neighbours again."

The woman looked terrified. "No. No. I dare not. If he does not come back, the others will. They would kill me."

"Others?" Terry produced the photos of the Boiler Room Boys from his pocket. "These others?"

She looked at the photos and then at him. "You - you know them?"

"My Boss nicked 'em last night for a mugging." He decided not to mention the possibility that they could be released if the police did not get any evidence. "Anything you could tell us about 'em would be a big help. You'll be safe if you come to my station to talk to us. My motor's just round the corner."

She still looked undecided. "But why have you helped me? I have gone to the police again and again, but they never listen."

"Which station did you go to? The one in Soho Square?" She nodded. "My station's Fenchurch East. Like I said, _proper_ police."

"Anyone there?" Slate's voice called outside. She started violently.

"No need to worry, love," Terry reassured her. "He's my colleague. JACK! In 'ere. We've got a bastard to bang up an' a witness who knocked 'im cold."

Slate entered, looking suitably awestruck at the sight of the unconscious thug and the small woman, still holding the tray in a defensive attitude. The sight of a second armed detective seemed to persuade her.

"I will come with you. I must, for my husband's sake."

It was pure good luck that a group of dancing girls arrived for a rehearsal at the club opposite, just as Terry and Slate carried their captive out and loaded him into Terry's car. The woman stopped to speak to them, and the group dispersed in all directions.

"I have told them that Cliff Lonsdale and the Boiler Room Boys have been arrested by policemen from another station," she told Terry as she slid into the passenger seat. "They will tell everyone. This is a happy day for us all."

_Which could make it a bit easier for the others to get witnesses to talk,_ Terry thought as he started the car. "Thanks, love. Just got to let my Boss know, then we'll be off."

-oO0Oo-

Sitting with Cotsey in the Cavalier in Golden Square, Jason was like a cat on hot bricks. He dreaded that at any moment his mother or Tommy might walk past, see him, and think that he had named them as witnesses to the mugging. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Terry's car stopped beside him and Slate rolled the back window down.

"Terry's got a bastard and a witness, Boss. Money with menaces. Going back to the station to bang 'im up an' interview her."

Jason looked long and hard at the unconscious villain, but he did not know the face. _Something else Mum and Ethel kept from me. _"Well done, lads. Any connection with the Boiler Room Boys?"

"The witness recognised the photos. We'll know more when we've interviewed 'er."

Jason had half a mind to go back with them and take the lead in the interview, but he restrained himself. _If this man works for the Boiler Room, Earnshaw might have told him about me. And that could lead back to Mum and Tommy._ "Good work. Keep me posted."

-oO0Oo-

The woman's name was Sita Shivanjan. Back at Fenchurch East, fortified by tea, Garibaldis and sympathy, she told her story.

"My husband and I opened the Star Café in Brewer Street nearly ten years ago. We never made a fortune, but it was enough for us to live on. And our customers were our friends. Soho is a good community - or it was. Then eighteen months ago, the Boiler Room opened. The men there started a reign of terror. They demanded money, regular payments, more and more. If anyone refused, awful things happened. Broken windows first, then power cuts, fires, intimidation of staff and customers. People stopped going to a club or a shop or café that had defied the Boiler Room, for fear of assault. One client of the nightclub across the road, Benny's Bar, found his tyres slashed when he came out of the club. We all complained to the police station, but nothing was ever done. Why was that?"

"That's what we mean to find out, love," Terry informed her. "Go on."

"In the end, nearly everyone paid up, but my husband held out. He said that if we all gave in, these men would go on demanding more, but that if just one person resisted, more might join him, and in the end we might beat these people. I was terrified and begged him to reconsider, but he would not listen.

"The intimidation grew worse and worse. Vans delivering our supplies were attacked, the delivery men were assaulted and their goods stolen or ruined. Nobody would deliver to us any more, and we had to bring everything in from the Cash and Carry. Our customers were afraid to come any more. We lost all our profits and went into the red. I told my husband that we should sell up and get out, but he would not go. In any case, how would we have found a buyer? Anyone who came to see the place would have been attacked.

"Then, one night, a window was broken and a fire bomb thrown through the window. Mercifully, it did not ignite properly, and I was up late doing our accounts. I came to see what was happening and was able to extinguish the fire before it could spread. Some furniture and the lino were damaged, but they could be repaired. But after that my husband insisted on mounting guard every night in case it happened again. He barely slept at all. It was ruinous to his health. The stress upon us both was awful. Then one night, after I had snatched a few hours' sleep, I came to check on him and found him unconscious. He had suffered a heart attack. He was rushed to hospital, but it was too late." She burst into tears, and Slate awkwardly pushed a box of Kleenex across the table to her. "Now I pay, just like everyone else. I feel that it is a desecration of his memory, but I have hoped that if I could keep going, maybe someday things would be better. Then today, you came. My guardian angels."

Terry blushed. "All part of the service. Now, this bloke Lonsdale, the one you floored, is he the one who's been demanding money from you all this time?"

She nodded emphatically. "Always. He is the club's collector. But today he had come about something else as well. To tell me that if anyone came to ask about whether the Boiler Room Boys had been hurting me, the café would be burned down."

"An' you were prepared to risk that?"

She looked at him, steadfast. "As I told you, I have to, for my husband's sake. It is time to make a stand."

"What about the four in these photos 'ere?" Slate said quietly.

"The Boiler Room Boys. They are the club's enforcers. They are the ones who slashed tyres, and attacked staff and customers, and bombed the café, and stole our supplies. They are quite open about it because they fear no-one and the police would not stop them." She looked at him pleadingly. "But will you stop them now?"

"Yes, love. Thanks to you, I think we can."

-oO0Oo-

The girls from Benny's Bar had done their work well. A number of clubs and businesses refused to talk, and denied that anything was wrong, but here and there, the other members of the team found people who were willing to talk about the protection racket and the harassment and intimidation they had suffered. Jason noticed that nobody came forward from the Golden Domino. Doubtless the previous night's attack on Linda had influenced them. By the time everyone had returned to Fenchurch East, they had a string of statements with enough evidence to enable him to interview Lonsdale and charge both him and the Boiler Room Boys. Earnshaw, inevitably, had turned up breathing fire, and had been sent off with a flea in his ear after his five clients were charged.

"Good work, one and all," Jason announced to the reassembled team. "Especially Terry. I'll make sure the Guv knows about this." He stuck coloured markers onto the map. "Witness statements from Brewer Street, Berwick Street, Peter Street, Wardour Street, Poland Street and Greek Street. Pretty widespread. This is a net covering all of Soho. Right, we've got the enforcers in the cells, but we haven't got the nightclub owner or Soho Square yet."

"Can't we just nick the owner too, now we've got evidence?" Poirot suggested.

Jason shook his head. "Won't be that easy. Even without the lawyer there, none of our five are saying anything. The witnesses have implicated them, but none of them have named the owner as having any knowledge of what they've been up to."

"Keeping his 'ands clean an' letting 'is foot soldiers take the flak," Slate grumbled.

"Exactly so. And if we go to him without evidence, he'll just claim that they were acting without his knowledge. We need evidence to implicate him and to prove that he and his team of thugs are linked to Soho Square."

"So what next, Boss?" Davies asked.

"First, get the night shift to watch Sita's café and the properties of the other people who've talked to us. Tell them what we're doing, so that they aren't frightened if they notice that they're being watched."

"Sita's already said that she doesn't want to stay at 'er place tonight," Terry volunteered. "I've 'ad a word with Sandro. He's given us the key to the empty flat next to yours. Jack's going to take 'er back 'ome to get a nightie an' a toothbrush."

"Good thinking, Terry. Just because the Boiler Room's A-team is inside, doesn't mean that the owner might not be able to hire some other thug to carry out his threats. Apart from anything else, he'll need new bouncers if he's to open the club tonight."

"Are we going to the club then?" Slate said hopefully.

"Not tonight. Sorry to disappoint. They'll be on the lookout for us there, and so will Soho Square. If we do anything that looks even _slightly_ underhand, Earnshaw will be onto us like a ferret. Got to do this by the book. Tomorrow we'll get these statements collated and look for anything that could give us a link to the owner. We might want to re-interview some of these witnesses. For now, beer o'clock, and the first round's on me."

**TBC**


	21. Enemy

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... you know how it goes.**

**Yet again, many apologies for the delay since posting the last chapter. I'd intended to post earlier, but I've been away twice and was landed with an unexpected commission.**

**Gene and Alex come back into the story in this chapter, along with - well, read and find out.**

**Thanks so much to my four lovely reviewers, Katie Duggan's Niece, original-star-girl-78, LouBelle04, and Good Friday. Gals, you rock! If anyone feels like reviewing this chapter, please, please do - and I'll try not to delay so long before posting the next chapter!**

Jason breezed into the station at nine on the dot. "Morning, Paul. Any updates?"

"Yes, Sir. The Guv was on the phone before I got in this morning. He and DI Drake are on their way back. Their tribunal wrapped last night, but it was too late for them to start back then. He expects to be here by one o' clock. I've told the team."

"Thanks." _Probably sooner than one, given how the Guv drives._ Jason didn't know whether to be glad or sorry. The Guv's return would give more authority to his investigation, but he guessed that the Guv would be displeased that someone else had been taking the initiative in his absence. He was not a man given to sharing his power.

"And Terry would like a word. He's in the office."

"Great. See you later."

Terry and Slate approached him as soon as he walked through the swing doors. "Boss. Jack and I decided to watch Sita's place last night instead of leaving it to night shift. At just gone three we saw what looked like a torch being shone upstairs an' went to investigate. She'd given me the keys."

"And?"

"Found a little piece of teenage shit in 'er bedroom, sprinkling petrol all over the place. Jack floored 'im before 'e could get a lighter out. We checked downstairs. He'd wrecked the cooker an' pulled some wires from the wall."

"Hoped to make the fire look like an electrical fault," Jason said grimly. "Bastard."

Terry looked uncomfortable. "That's not all, Boss."

"What else?"

"When Jack took 'er back last night to get some things, she left a pillow under the bedclothes, to make it look like she was there if anyone on the other side of the road looked in the window. We found he'd stuck a knife in the pillow. Big 'un. She'd 'ave been done for if she'd been there."

"And then he'd have set the place on fire to cover his tracks. Incineration's too good for him."

"Jack an' I got plod to secure the site, an' forensics are going over it now. We brought the scrote back 'ere an' interviewed him."

"What did you get, more "no comments"?" He waggled his fingers.

Terry's face broke into a grin. "Better'n that. His first mistake was to ask for a lawyer, an' e' said 'e wanted Earnshaw."

"Surprise, surprise."

"Name of Rory Penn. Nicks bikes an' old ladies' purses for a living. We put it to 'im that it was unusual for a small-time crim like 'im to have a high-powered lawyer like Earnshaw, an' we _further_ put it to 'im that we already 'ad five of Earnshaw's clients in custody on serious charges. He cracked. He's right out of 'is depth in all this. He'd wanted to get a stage further in 'is criminal career, so 'e applied for a job at the Boiler Room yesterday, an' the owner gave 'im a choice. Sleep with 'im, or kill Sita an' torch 'er place. His wrong choice an' his bad luck we were there."

"And our good luck," Jason exulted. "Well done, boys. We can nail the bastard now and put a stop to this once and for all."

"Yeah, but go to 'im now, we can get 'im for being behind the attack on Sita's place, but we still 'aven't anything to link the rest of the crew to 'im," Terry said gloomily. "They work for 'im, but 'e can claim that they were acting without 'is knowledge. Earnshaw's the lawyer for all of 'em, but the court won't accept that as proof."

"You're right. I've been doing this from the wrong angle." He clapped Terry on the shoulder. "Give me the file, and you two go home and get some sleep. You've done a night shift on top of a day shift without being asked. I'll make sure you get paid for that." He cast his eye around the office. "Poirot. Job for you. We need some research on this nightclub-owning bastard. Find out if he's got any past form. Anything that can link him to the activities of the five we've got banged up. If there's any dirt, we want it dished. Can do?"

"Roger that, Boss." Poirot's glance travelled down the front of the file, and his eyes widened. "Bloody 'ell!"

"What's up?"

"If this is who I think it is, then we'll 'ave enough dirt on 'im to send 'im to Siberia till the year 2000. Your Dad told me about someone with this name once."

"Why?"

Poirot seemed guarded suddenly. "It's the Guv's story, too. I'll leave 'im to tell it. Wouldn't be fair on 'im if I told you. I was never part of it like 'e an' your Dad an' Chris were."

"_WHAT?_"

"Guv'll tell you. He's back at lunchtime, isn't 'e? I might be jumping to conclusions. Might not be the same bastard. Leave it to me, Boss. I'll do a Drake an' make the connections."

-oO0Oo-

The Guv blasted into CID at just after 1.00 with Alex in his wake.

"Right! An' 'ave you all been good little boys an' girl while we've been away?"

Jason boldly stepped forward. "We're investigating a protection racket in Soho, Guv. A nightclub owner's been extorting money and terrorising the district. He's hand in glove with Soho Square station. There was an attempted murder with arson last night. We've got a string of witness statements and charged his gang of five, but we're looking for connections to charge him too."

Gene's face was at its most boot-like. "Been a busy little bee, 'aven't you?"

"I hope you're pleased that we've taken the initiative, Guv?"

The entire room held its breath.

"Let's see what you've been up to, then."

They approached the whiteboard, which Jason had updated, and Jason took Gene and Alex through the case. Gene listened, firing out the odd question, until Jason had finished.

"... and Poirot's researching the owner. Hopefully we'll get something to link him to his merry men and to Soho Square."

There was a long silence.

"Hm. Not bad. Better than the last time I left you alone with the toy cupboard. Then I found you'd been fraternising with D an' C."

"Actually I did see DCI Morgan in Soho the night before last, but we only exchanged a few words," Jason said helpfully. "He said that D&C had received complaints of police corruption in Soho."

Gene's face was shuttered. "Anything else?"

"No, Guv. He offered to take me home, but I wasn't going the same way as he was."

Gene visibly relaxed. "Good. That witness bird OK?"

"Sita? Yes, Sandro and Teresina are looking after her. She's very upset, but she says that she'll still testify."

"Brave girl. Take it you 'aven't been to Soho Square yet?"

"No, Guv, I thought it best to make all the connections first. We haven't got any hard evidence yet that they're involved, only that they've been turning a blind eye and that nobody from the Boiler Room is ever charged. The five we've charged are still refusing to implicate their employer, and until we've got the evidence to nail him, we won't be able to establish a connection between him and Soho Square."

"Hm." Gene looked at the whiteboard. "Eighteen months ago. Just around the time Mac died. That left a power vacuum in Soho, and this Boiler Room outfit must 'ave stepped in." He turned to Alex. "We knew Mac 'ad connections with officers in other stations, but we were never able to prove anything."

"That's right." Alex remembered the statements for the bank accounts of Met officers who had hidden Mac's money. The rest of the team, except for Lisa, nodded wisely.

Jason felt left out of the conversation, just as he had when he had been talking with Poirot that morning. "Excuse me, Guv, who is Mac? Terry mentioned him yesterday."

"_Was,_" Gene said shortly.

"Superintendent Mackintosh. A corrupt officer with whom we tangled the year before last," Alex explained quietly. "He was involved in the murder of a copper in Soho _and_ the killing in prison of the copper who committed the murder for him, and who'd murdered a potential witness. We investigated both cases. The Guv and I worked to bring Mac to book, and he tried to frame me for corruption and get the Guv transferred to Devon. He committed suicide when he was faced with exposure."

_Nobody was ever prosecuted under Operation Countryman,_ Jason suddenly remembered. "Oh. I see. Do we know if he was involved with any nightclub owners?"

"We do know that 'e was up to 'is knackers in corruption in Soho." Gene's face was shuttered again. "The Boiler Room's opened since Mac's time. If he was involved with Soho Square, it might explain why they're protecting the club now. Just who is this owner? His name's not on the board. Any form?"

Jason had removed the name after his talk with Poirot that morning. "Poirot's researching him - "

Right on cue, Poirot came bustling through the double doors. "I've made the connection, Boss! The owner of the Boiler Room is the same bastard as your Dad an' the Guv an' Chris knew in Manchester. Stephen Warren."

"Bloody 'ell!"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the assembled coppers, and Gene turned as white as a sheet. Poirot saw his Guv for the first time and seemed to fold himself into the smallest possible space.

"Oh. Er. Guv. Hadn't seen you there."

"Since when did I become invisible?" Gene snarled, and the luckless Poirot diminished still further. "No answer? Good. Drake. Collins. Poirot. My office. Now."

-oO0Oo-

With the four of them crowded into the office, Alex was quite reminded of old times, when Ray and Chris were called in on her discussions with Gene. Poor Poirot appeared to be taking Chris's habitual place as the butt of Gene's displeasure.

"Right. Poirot. What 'ave you got for us on that bent blight on humanity, that murdering, throat-slitting, blackmailing, cop-corrupting, fruit-picking, uphill-gardening, fudge-packing fairy queen called Stephen Warren?"

Jason, who had thought himself inured to the Guv's excesses, was appalled. Alex, he saw, looked shocked but resigned. "My God! Guv, that is disgusting!"

"Not half so disgusting as Warren," Gene growled. "Poirot. Report."

Poirot blushed. "Collins asked me to check out if we 'ad anything on the Stephen Warren who owns the Boiler Room, so I 'ad a word with the secretary of the Soho Residents' Association. Nice lady."

Gene glared. "Get to the _point._"

"She'd 'eard from some of 'er members that the Boiler Room was giving trouble an' that the cops didn't want to know. There's a private tec operating out of Wardour Street. He doesn't belong to the Association, but she went to 'im an' asked if he'd help. He looked Warren up for 'er in exchange for a donation from Association funds." He looked at the file. "Stephen Warren, born in Dublin 1930, knocked around there as a small-time criminal till he came to England in 1958. Worked as a bouncer, then as minder to Stan Rainbird in Manchester. Rainbird died in suspicious circumstances in 1965."

"How, suspicious?" Alex asked.

"He 'ad a heart condition an' was found dead in his flat," Gene said shortly. "Hadn't been taking his pills. Warren 'ad access to the flat before Rainbird died. Police suspected at the time that he might 'ave nicked the pills and put 'em back after Rainbird died. Nothing ever proved."

"A pity," Alex said thoughtfully."We probably wouldn't be able to prove anything after all this time."

Gene shrugged. "Rainbird was just as much of a blight as Warren. Top brass at GMP turned a blind eye an' 'oped Warren wouldn't be as bad. Their mistake. Go on, Poirot."

"Rainbird had no family. Warren took over 'is empire and, er, and 'is contacts with the police - "

"We know all about that!" Gene snapped.

" - and he renamed Rainbird's club The Warren. Found guilty of the murder of Joni Newton in 1973, jailed for fifteen years, released early on health grounds in April '82," Poirot gabbled.

"_Health?_ The bastard's tougher than a British Rail steak sandwich!"

"Lawyer claimed he had a dodgy ticker."

"It might even be true, after nine years inside," Alex interjected.

"An' who was the lawyer who got 'im out?" Gene demanded of Poirot.

"Hugo Earnshaw, Guv."

Gene looked uncommonly satisfied. "The one who's been claiming the Boiler Room Boys are innocent little lads making their way in the world?"

"The same, Guv."

"Thought so. Warren must 'ave ditched the lawyer who couldn't stop 'im getting sent down for topping Joni. Go on."

"Earnshaw handled Warren's first unsuccessful appeal in '75 and since then he's looked after 'is business interests. Warren left Manchester after 'is release on 'is second appeal. Earnshaw 'ad handled that too. Earnshaw 'ad sold The Warren while 'e was inside an' converted all 'is assets to cash. Warren moved down 'ere an' opened the Boiler Room in July 1982."

"Where 'e's been staying ever since, on _my_ doorstep, terrorising the people on _my_ patch, an' corrupting the station next door," Gene spat, disgusted. "What about Earnshaw? Any word on 'im?"

"I'm still digging, Guv. Contacts I'm talking to so far are keeping tight-lipped. What I've got, is that he's stinking rich - swish cars, big country pile, hideaway in the Med, motor boat, you name it."

"Hm. Wouldn't 'ave got all that from being a brief."

"Might he have inherited at least some of it?" Jason suggested.

"Might have done," Poirot admitted. "Went to a public school. He doesn't seem to 'ave many clients, an' those 'e does have, are suspicious bastards. All big crime lords an' their hangers-on."

"Right. Poirot, well done. See what else you can find. Off you trot. Drake, Collins, a word."

Poirot gathered up the file and fled. Gene waited until the door was closed, and then turned to Jason.

"Collins. Before we go any further, there are things you should know. Drake knows already." He favoured Alex with a brief glance before turning his attention back to Jason. "Poirot mentioned Warren's "contacts with the police" in Manchester." He waggled his fingers. "I was one of 'em."

"Guv?" Jason's mind whirled.

Gene sat on the edge of his desk, still fixing Jason with his intense blue gaze. "When I started out as a copper, the system worked on give an' take. Checks an' balances. I'd taken my first backhander when I'd been in the Force a month, back in '53. It was a way of life. I took bungs from Warren, like we all did. Including your dad, in case you're wondering. We turned a blind eye to 'is little games, he kept the lid on the crap in his manor. "

"My God." Jason sank into a chair.

Gene looked at the ground. "Not the thing I'm proudest of in my career. It all changed when Tyler joined the team. He made it clear straight off that he wouldn't 'ave any deals with Warren. The bastard got one of 'is girls to set 'im up, an' when she didn't follow through, 'e killed 'er. Sam an' I got one of 'is men to testify against 'im. Warren was sent down. I've never taken a bung since, an' nor did your Dad. Wanted you to know 'ow things were with Warren an' me, before we pay 'im a little visit."

Jason was shocked, but a few moments' reflection reminded him of what he had learned in the real world, about the police in the North at that time. He had read the _Red Riding_ quartet. It made him feel to sick to think that the Guv, and even more that his father, had been a part of that corrupt world. But he appreciated the courage that it had taken for the Guv to make such an admission. He knew that if he were to say so, the Guv would take his head off. He saw the sorrow, love and understanding in Alex's eyes.

"Thanks for telling me, Guv. But won't that make it difficult for you if you arrest Warren now? He could try to blackmail us. If he testifies at his trial that he used to bribe you, it could end your career."

"No, it won't." Gene's face was granite-like. "It all came out at 'is trial for Joni's murder in '73. Thing is, 'is arrangements with the police 'adn't stopped with me. Went right up to the Chief Super an' the Deputy Commissioner, just like Rainbird before 'im. They were desperate to keep their arses clean, so I was ordered to say I'd been taking 'is bungs to keep 'im sweet while I worked undercover to get evidence against 'im. Got me out of the shit when I didn't deserve it."

"He could still try to bring you down now, by claiming at his trial that you were corrupt back in 1973," Alex said anxiously.

"Risk we've got to take. I'm not letting 'im get away with trying to turn Sita into a crispy chapati. Besides, the trial'll focus on the rot at Soho Square. I'd be old news. Bent copper unbent, moi. They'll know me now as the man who took down Supermac, busted Operation Rose, an' opened the can of worms at Fenchurch West."

"Before we start planning the trial, Guv, can I point out that we still don't have any hard evidence involving Warren _or_ Soho Square?" Jason said cautiously.

"Evidence?"

"Yes. You know, the stuff that we use to persuade the courts to send our suspects down." Alex's voice brimmed with sarcasm.

"Oh, E-Vi-Dence!" Gene slapped his forehead in a theatrical manner. "Why didn't you say so? Haven't any of Warren's little birdies in our cage sung yet?"

"No, and it doesn't look like they're going to," Jason said despondently. "They all know their only chance is to keep their traps shut."

"We'll loosen 'em, then." Gene spoke with decision.

"Guv!" Alex exploded. "If you beat anyone up, it'll get back to Earnshaw, and then bang goes our chance of making a case against them!"

Gene looked smug. "Who said anything about beating 'em up? Won't lay a finger on 'em, Bolls, except to cuff 'em an' put 'em in the car."

"You're taking them out of the station?" She radiated mistrust.

"Just for a spot of questioning at a remote location."

"Will it involve a crane?"

"Perish the thought, Bolly."

"Or a cold store?" Her voice was heavy with suspicion. Behind Gene, she could see Jason bewilderedly mouthing, "Cold store?"

"Or a cold store. Trust the Genie."

"Right!" she said brightly. "Where are we going, then?"

"You are staying right 'ere. First thing, you apply for a search warrant for the Boiler Room an' Warren's offices an' living quarters. If the setup's like The Warren in Manchester, he'll be living above the shop."

"Do you mean your usual search warrant?" Alex said drily. "Because if you do, the crowbar's in your bottom desk drawer."

Behind Gene, she saw Jason's jaw drop.

"Did I say a crowbar? I said a search warrant. Bit of paper with a judge's autograph that lets us into Warren's burrow."

"The crowbar'll do that, but it doesn't have the judge's name on it," Alex muttered, not quietly enough.

"An' get the team to do some digging on Earnshaw and on the Soho Square brigade."

"Roger that, Daddy Bear. But why am I not coming with you?"

"Collins is with me. It's 'is case. Off you wiggle."

"Because it "could get messy?" " She waggled her fingers.

"No, Bolly. It'll get clean. _Very_ clean. Mush."

Her glare before she swept out of the office spoke volumes.

"Er, Guv, what was all that about?" Jason ventured cautiously after the door had closed behind her.

"Drake disagrees with my methods of interrogation, as well you know. Great arse, cracking tits, but she's a bird, an' birds spoil our fun. Now. Get Lonsdale booked out, cuff 'im, an' meet me in the car park behind the station in half an hour. Got a mac?"

"Guv?"

"Mac? Anything waterproof?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"Get one out of Lost an' Found."

"But the weather forecast this morning said that today will be fine and sunny - "

"You 'eard me. Get yourself a mac out of Lost an' Found, an' get Paul to look out the two biggest umbrellas he's got there."

"_Umbrellas_, Guv?"

"You 'eard. See you in half an hour."

Jason wandered out of the room, mystified. Gene picked up his telephone and dialled a number.

"Trev. Gene Hunt 'ere. How's the second-hand car business treating you, mate? Listen, I want to borrow one of your motors for the afternoon. Got a convertible? Fine. Fine. I'll be along to collect it in ten minutes."

-oO0Oo-

Half an hour later, Jason looked out of the back door to see Gene awaiting him, not in the Quattro, but in a sporty pale blue Datsun convertible with a soft black plastic roof. It looked as though it had not been cleaned for a very long time. To his astonishment, Gene was wearing a massive mackintosh and sou'wester.

"Good Lord, Guv, you aren't ditching the Quattro for this?"

"Perish the thought an' him who uttered it. No, I've borrowed this off a mate for the afternoon. Where's our little extortion merchant then?"

"Paul's bringing him up from the cells."

"Right. When he's brought out, put 'im in the back an' cuff 'im to the back of the passenger seat headrest."

"Roger that. But why the fancy dress, Guv?"

"With what we're going to do, this will be strictly functional." He eyed Jason's modest mackintosh. "Yours'll do. Got the brollies?"

Jason produced them. "Paul says they're the two biggest in Lost and Found."

"Ta." Gene helped himself to the biggest, just as Paul brought Lonsdale out, cuffed and sullen.

"But where are we going in this car, and dressed like this on a sunny day?"

"We're off to see a bloke I know who owes me a favour."

**TBC**


	22. Cleanup

**A/N: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes. I don't even have a hire option on Gene. Unfortunately.**

**Sorry (yet again) to have taken so long to update this story. Given how this chapter ends (no peeking), I'll try to make the next update quicker than this one was! **

**Thanks once again to everyone who's reading this, and especially my lovely reviewers. Feedback is always welcome, hint hint. Keep faith, there's plenty more of this story to come!**

Having dealt with the application for the search warrant as her first priority, Alex found herself left to organise the team her way for once. She told Poirot to continue digging on Warren and Earnshaw, told Davies to compile her a list of Soho Square's personnel - _the easiest task for the dimmest team member _-and told Bammo, Cotsey and the others to collate the statements taken the previous day. For herself, she decided to go straight for the horse's mouth. _If Gene uses methods I disapprove of, I can go to people he doesn't like. Especially as he isn't here to object._ She went into Gene's empty office, picked up the phone, and dialled a number.

"Evan? Hello, it's Alex Drake here."

"Alex!" There was no doubting the pleasure in his voice. "It's been too long! How are you?"

"Well, thank you. How are you and little Alex?"

"Both fine. You must come to tea with us some day."

"Thank you." It was not an invitation she had any intention of taking up. Even though she now knew that Evan and her younger self were constructs, she knew that she would never again be able to feel the same about him after learning the truth about her parents' deaths, and she had no intention of inadvertantly playing any part in little Alex's upbringing. The idea felt distinctly creepy. "In the meantime, I'm afraid this isn't just a social call. I'm looking for information on another lawyer. I realise you may not want to snitch on a colleague, but - "

"Who is it?"

"Have you heard of a man called Hugo Earnshaw?"

"My God." He sounded appalled. "Alex, be careful."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"I won't ask you why you want to know about Earnshaw, because that's not my business," he said quietly. "But he's a dangerous man, and it worries me that you may get on the wrong side of him."

"I'd remind you that I'm a police officer, and dealing with dangerous people is my job," Alex replied tartly. "He'd better worry about getting on the wrong side of us. What do you know about him that worries you? Or would you rather not say?"

"The man's a disgrace to the legal profession," Evan said bitterly. "He has a high success rate because he uses thugs who intimidate witnesses and juries. I've seen them in action."

"How does he have access to heavies?" Alex thought that she knew the answer.

"One of his chief clients is a nightclub owner with a formidable team of bouncers."_ Bingo._ "Another is a prime South London gangster. And, no, I won't name names."

"Why haven't you reported him?"

"And put my Alex at risk? He and his friends wouldn't be above harming a child."

"Point taken. Thank you, Evan, that's very helpful. I can take this from here. You won't be mentioned. You've set me on the right track, and that's enough."

"Thank you." He sounded overwhelmingly relieved. "I was on the opposing side to him two months ago. We lost, of course, because his men nobbled the jury and scared our witnesses off, but I've been afraid ever since that he might still have a grudge against me. Anything you can do to take him out of circulation or reduce his influence - "

"Leave it to us. You concentrate on your job and on looking after Alex. How's she doing now?"

"She's doing well." There was no mistaking the pride in Evan's voice. "It was hardest just after Tim and Caroline died, of course."

"Of course." Alex could remember all too well.

"She was so clingy that some days I had trouble leaving her at school. As though she was afraid that I'd vanish in a puff of smoke as well, poor child. And she kept having the most terrible nightmares. But last summer she went on a day trip to France with her school, and this March she's going on a week-long field trip to Beacon Hill. She'll be starting secondary school in September, and we're hoping that she'll get into St Mark's. Her mother's old school."

"She will," Alex said with certainty. "You're doing a fine job with her. You can be proud of yourself, Evan."

"I'm not," he said bitterly. "Every time I look at her, it reminds me why I'm her guardian. This is all expiation."

"That doesn't matter. What matters now is that you're there for her when otherwise she'd be all alone and friendless in the world."

"Not quite friendless." She heard the smile in Evan's voice. "There's her Gene Genie. He was the one who was there for her when it _really _mattered. She still regards him as a friend, even though she's never seen him since. Tell me, how is big Alex getting on with him now?"

"Well. Very well."

"I always thought so." Evan sounded wistful. "Even when the two of you quarrelled like cat and dog, I always knew. But how do you reconcile your principles with working with him? Is he still as much of a maverick as ever? I remember when you reported him to me for detaining people illegally and holding a witness in custody without a caution or access to a telephone call or legal representation."

Alex smiled. "Oh, we still clash over our methods, but I don't worry so much about him now. I think he's learned his lesson about doing mad things."

-oO0Oo-

The Datsun pulled up outside a garage with a large, grubby signboard over the entrance which read _Ambrose's Ambrosial Car Wash and Valeting Service_. Gene thundered on the horn, and a cheery, Afro-haired Jamaican emerged from a Portakabin.

"Afternoon, Mr Hunt! Long time no see. What can I do for you, then?"

Gene got out of the car, motioning to Jason to stay inside. "Afternoon, Ambrose. I've got one grubby car an' one grubbier bastard to clean up."

"Now, just a minute - " Lonsdale began.

Ambrose bowed extravagantly and waved a gracious hand towards the car wash. "Feel free, Mr Hunt. I promised you a wash when you nicked that gang who were vandalising my equipment."

"Ta. Time to collect. Care to do the honours?"

"Sure." Ambrose stepped over to the car wash and manned the control panel. "When you're ready, Mr Hunt."

Gene folded the roof back, got into the car, and turned round to face Lonsdale.

"Right. Are you going to tell us who put you up to extortion an' terror in Soho? Speak now or forever hold your peace."

Lonsdale looked sullen. "Told you. I'm working solo."

"Have it your own way." He turned the car and inched it towards the car wash. A doubt arose in Jason's mind.

"Guv, what are you doing?"

"Just want this motor washed," Gene said innocently. "Exterior _and_ interior. Got that umbrella ready?"

Jason knew that he should be appalled, but he felt exhilarated. Lonsdale's scream from the back seat only fuelled his adrenaline.

"Ready when you are, Guv!"

"NO!" Lonsdale shrieked. "You can't! You're mad! What are you doing?"

Gene looked round. "Gonna talk?"

"I can't! He'd kill me!"

Gene shrugged. "Looks to me like you'll die anyway. At least this way, you'll die clean. Ambrose!"

"Ready, Mr Hunt!"

"FIRE UP THE CAR WASH!"

"HELP!" Lonsdale screamed. The car moved inexorably forward, and as it entered the car wash, Gene and Jason put their umbrellas up in perfect unison. Gene's was the larger. It was his bad luck that it was covered with pink teddy bears.

It was a maelstrom of noise, whirling brushes, pouring water and foam. Their umbrellas and mackintoshes protected Gene and Jason from the worst of it, but nonetheless they were drenched. Jason laughed hysterically.

"_Raindrops keep falling on my head..._"

Nobody heard him. The only sounds to penetrate the pandemonium were the howls and screams issuing from the completely unsheltered back seat as the luckless Lonsdale struggled like a madman against his bonds.

They drove out. Suddenly everything was very quiet. The car's paintwork gleamed in the afternoon sun. The interior was awash with water and suds. Lonsdale was slumped against Jason's seat, whimpering softly.

Gene turned to face him. "Well?"

"I can't!"

"Right." Gene took the car around to the front of the wash. "Sorry, Ambrose, this motor's not clean yet. Can you spare me a second go?"

Ambrose grinned broadly. "As many as you like, Mr Hunt. Be my guest."

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Lonsdale shrieked.

Gene turned to face him. "Well? The choice is yours, sunshine."

"I can't..." Lonsdale moaned.

"Fine. AMBROSE!"

Lonsdale screamed like a banshee, and Jason reflected that it was as well that nobody else could hear them. Much of the area looked derelict. Probably that was why the Guv had chosen Ambrose's establishment for this caper.

This time, Gene stopped the car inside the wash, and he and Jason hunkered under the umbrellas while Lonsdale writhed and screamed and begged behind them. At last his words penetrated the din.

"I'LL TALK!"

Gene promptly drove the car out. "Thanks, Ambrose. One nice clean car. Can we borrow your cabin?"

"Pleasure, Mr Hunt. I'll dry out the interior of the car while you wait."

They released the sodden, whimpering Lonsdale and hauled him into the Portakabin. It had been fitted out as an office, with one chair which Ambrose had thoughtfully covered with polythene and newspapers. Gene dumped Lonsdale into it and cuffed him to the desk, even though Jason was sure that he was in no condition to try to escape. The two of them stripped off their streaming rainproofs, dried themselves with a towel from Ambrose's kitchen, and made themselves cups of hot, steaming coffee. Lonsdale whimpered with longing, but they paid him no attention until they were dry and warm. Gene set his mug of coffee down on the desk, just out of Lonsdale's reach, and produced a tape recorder.

"Had this in the glove box," he explained to the admiring Jason. "Right." He pressed the Record button. "Interview of Clifford Lonsdale, third February 1984, two thirty-two p.m. Interviewing officers are DCI Hunt an' DI Collins. Lonsdale, you were nicked yesterday putting the fear of Krishna into Sita Shivanjan of the Star Café, sixteen Brewer Street. She has made allegations against you an' your colleagues at the Boiler Room, thirty-four, Great Marlborough Street, of intensive an' continual harrassment, intimidation an' money with menaces. Who are you working for, Lonsdale?"

Even now, Lonsdale hesitated before he spoke, but Jason jerked his head towards the window and the gleaming Datsun outside. Lonsdale bowed his head. "Stephen Warren. He owns the Boiler Room, but you'll know that already."

"We do," Jason acknowledged.

"An' Hunt knows him already," Lonsdale added nastily.

"I 'ave that displeasure. How did you get mixed up with 'im?"

"We met in Strangeways." Lonsdale shivered violently. "Cell mates. I was inside for robbery with violence, he was in for murder. You'd put 'im there. He hated you. Still does. He was released shortly before me, an' 'e promised that when I got out, he'd give me a job. We used to talk together about how 'e'd start up a new club and a new empire, how he'd get back everything he'd lost because of you."

"An' I'll bet you talked about it under the covers?" Gene sneered. Lonsdale looked up at him, coloured, and looked down again.

"I got out of jail and came down here. He'd written to say he'd bought the Boiler Room an' was opening soon. I joined 'im in time for the launch. We gathered our team around us. They're all in it - the bouncers, the bar staff, the waiters and the girls. Then we started making our presence felt."

"How?" Jason demanded.

"You know. Protection. Regular payments an' they'd be left alone. Make an example of anyone who didn't cough up. Make Soho his manor. His empire. With me as his chief minister." His eyes glowed.

"Funny how you could keep the police off your backs for so long," Jason commented.

Lonsdale favoured him with a glance of pure hate. "You already know the answer to that one, don't you, copper? DCI Willis, Soho Square."

"_Willis?_" Gene's eyes kindled. Jason glanced at him sharply, but Gene motioned to him to be silent. Jason guessed that whatever emotions Willis's name had stirred, they were to be explained once the tape was no longer running.

"Warren got 'im into bed an' then threatened to tell 'is wife if he didn't turn a blind eye to anything he or 'is team got up to. Willis played ball. The whole of Soho Square's CID is in on it. They know to take backhanders from Warren an' leave the Boiler Room alone. They don't know why, of course. Just think that Willis is onto a good thing, an' he's sharing it with 'em."

"Funny, it was a uniform at Soho Square who first tipped us off that the Boiler Room Boys were being routinely let off," Jason commented.

"Yeah, an empire built on police corruption isn't as solid as you think," Gene added grimly. "It only takes one shiny copper to bring it all down around your lug 'oles."

"That'll be their Skip," Lonsdale said bitterly. "He's new. Willis 'adn't tamed 'im yet."

Gene loomed over him. "_'Ow 'igh does this miserable thing go?_"

Lonsdale's eyes gleamed with malice. "Haven't worked it out yet, 'ave you?" He jerked his head towards the pile of waterproofs in the corner. "Mackintosh."

"Detective Superintendent Mackintosh to you." Gene's voice was like rock.

"Spot on. Mackintosh had been running scams in Soho for years."

"Yeah, we know about some of 'em."

"Willis was one of 'is bankers." Gene nodded wisely, and Lonsdale went on, "Earnshaw found out all about it when he was investigating the neighbourhood before buying the Boiler Room for Warren. He made up a dossier, an' Warren used it to blackmail Willis to let him take over Mackintosh's network and extend it. If Willis blew the whistle, Earnshaw would go to the the cops and reveal that 'e'd worked for Mackintosh."

"Good God, and Willis let the creep sleep with him?" Jason marvelled.

Lonsdale smirked. "Warren drugged 'im an' got me to photograph the two of 'em together in bed. Enough to wreck the 'appy 'ome if 'is Missus saw the pictures. Don't look so shocked, Hunt. You know all about Warren an' how 'e corrupts the police."

"Yes." Gene's face was expressionless. "Yes, I know. An' you're dead lucky I don't ask Ambrose for the loan of 'is power 'ose an' stick it right up your sorry arse."

Ambrose tapped at the door. "Mr Hunt? Sorry to ask, but someone wants me to wash their car. Have you finished with the equipment?"

"Yeah. Interview ended two thirty-nine p.m." He pressed the Stop button. "Come on, Collins, we'll get this soggy sod banged up. Then we'll go after 'is master."

-oO0Oo-

Alex had used her time well. Following Evan's tip-off, she had set Poirot and Bammo to researching Earnshaw's recent court cases, with a view to identifying a witness who had refused to testify, and who might be persuaded to come forward now that his enforcers were under arrest. Carefully avoiding the case in which Evan had appeared against him, she looked through the case data the boys collated for her and soon identified a likely candidate, Elizabeth Barr, an elderly lady who had witnessed a stabbing in Shepherd's Market. The defendant was not one of Warren's gang, but the offence had taken place on Soho Square's patch. The case had collapsed because she had withdrawn her original testimony when Earnshaw cross-examined her.

Alex was all set to head out to Shepherd's Market to interview her when Gene and Jason returned, both unaccountably damp but glowing with triumph. Seeing the two of them bursting through the swing doors together, Alex felt a pang of jealousy.

"Listen up!" Gene roared, and the office was silent. "Got a full confession from Lonsdale. Stitched Warren up like a kipper _and_ confirmed the Soho Square connection. DCI Willis."

"Willis?" The name stirred a memory in Alex's mind. _When we were investigating Mac..._

_"Bank statements."_

_"Whose are they?" _

_"Metropolitan police officers." _

_"Where did you get them?" _

_"Don't ask and I won't tell you. Willis, Crawford, Franklin, Collins. CID, plain clothes, Traffic, Flying Squad. All of them with bank balances that are way out of their league and all of them connected back to Mac." _

"Dear God," she said out loud. "Another of Mac's men. We couldn't pin anything on him at the time, but - "

"But now 'e's in the shit." Gene's face was grim.

"How about Earnshaw?"

"Nothing on him yet," Poirot admitted.

"Well, I've got some leads - "

"Well done, Bols. Get your coat."

"I'm just on the way to interview a witness. One who could nail Earnshaw for us."

"He'll keep for now. We're going for Warren."

"But, Guv - "

Gene slammed his fist onto the desk. "We've waited long enough, fannying around getting evidence to nail 'im. He knows 'is whole team's inside, and he'll know it's only a matter of time before someone cracks. He's 'ad time to skip the country an' get 'alfway 'ome to Dublin. An' the longer we leave 'im, the longer we give Soho Square to cover up their crimes. Poirot, Bammo, with us. We're off. Collins, take the troops in the Cav."

Alex grabbed her jacket. "What about losing Earnshaw while we go for Warren?" she demanded as she pulled her jacket on and was swept outside with the others.

"Earnshaw's a brief," Gene declared, jumping into the Quattro. "Briefs don't run. They always think they can get the better of the cops."

"I hope to God you're right," she muttered. She was already worried that Evan and her younger self might be in danger because he had told her about Earnshaw's practices.

She wondered whether something of her sense of urgency had communicated itself to Gene. The Quattro barely touched the ground on the way to Great Marlborough Street. In the normal way of things, it would have made more sense to leave it to Jason to bring Warren in while she and Gene went straight to Soho Square, but she understood Gene's need to arrest Warren himself and to have as many members of his team with him as possible. For him, this was unfinished business from long, long ago. His face was grim and set, and he barely seemed to notice that she was with him. _The car's full of ghosts. Sam. Annie. Ray. Chris._

The Quattro screamed to a halt outside the Boiler Room with the Cavalier right behind. Gene leapt out and hammered on the door, and the others followed him. As it was still only mid-afternoon, the club was not yet open for business. A burly, frightened-looking young man, whom Alex surmised was one of the new bouncers, answered the door.

"I'm sorry, Sir, we don't open until six."

"Police." Gene flourished his warrant card. "I want a word with your boss."

"I'm afraid he isn't available to see anyone - " the young man said timidly.

"Stephen Warren is always "available"!" Gene roared. "Where is 'e?"

"In - in - in his office, but I can't let you in - "

"Oh. Yes. You. Can." With one mighty paw, Gene picked up a handful of the hapless youth's shirt and nearly lifted him clear of the ground.

"Guv!" Alex protested ineffectually. Jason, she saw with concern, was positively enjoying the show.

"You've got a choice, Sonny. You allow us to do our job, or you can get your 'ead punched in an' then be charged with obstructin' the police. _Your call._"

The luckless boy nodded, and Gene put him down. Alex silently surmised that the new bouncers might have been chosen by Warren more with their bedroom capabilities in mind than their ability to keep undesirables out of the club.

The kid led the way past the empty booth, past the darkened club room, bedezined with silvery pipes and cables to reflect the club's title, where a gaggle of thin, huge-eyed girls paused in their rehearsal of a dance routine to stare at the newcomers sweeping past, and through a set of swing doors at the far end. The second room was fitted up as a casino. At the far end was a stairway with two more bouncers on guard at its foot. They both looked more capable than the youngster on the door, but one of them turned a pale shade of green at the sight of Gene.

"Bloody 'ell! Fanny Carstairs!"

"_Who?_" Alex demanded.

Gene's enjoyment of the situation was positively indecent. "Shall you tell the lady, or shall I?" The burly bouncer's silent blushes were an eloquent response. His fellow was agog but remained wary of the cops. "Lost your tongue, eh? Francis Carstairs, Bols. Nicked for soliciting in the lavs at Piccadilly Circus Tube. Had 'is own cubicle. The regulars say there should be a plaque _erected_ to 'im, for services rendered on site. 'Ow come you've got into the bouncing business, eh, Fanny? Or is that for services rendered to your new boss?"

"You can't come in 'ere," Carstairs muttered, too late and ineffectually.

Gene smirked. "You didn't say that in the Dilly bogs." He grabbed the unhappy youth by his shirt front and tossed him to one side like so much rubbish. The other bouncer bravely stood his ground.

"Mr Warren's not seeing visitors."

"Good. 'Cos we aren't visitors. We're cops, an' that's different." The bouncer made the grave mistake of squaring up to him. Gene regarded him thoughtfully. "Oh, dear Lord, I can resist everything, except temptation." His fist cracked home on the bouncer's jaw, and the lad dropped to the ground.

"Was that really necessary, Guv?" Alex fulminated.

" 'Course not. 'Course not, but nothing succeeds like excess. Come along, woman. Nag, nag, nag."

The team started to ascend the stairs, with Gene in the lead, Alex and Jason close behind, and the DCs bringing up the rear.

"He's in his office on the first floor," the first bouncer called after them. Clearly he had decided to back the stronger side.

Warren's office was not hard to find. It was the only door on the floor with a red quilted leather facing. Poirot and Bammo, guns drawn, quickly checked the others, which proved to be an unsavoury toilet, a store room, and a dressing room for the performers. All were empty. Gene, Alex and Jason drew their guns and stole close to Warren's door. Two voices issued from within. One was sharp and angry, and Jason knew it at once.

"I'm telling you, you have to get out, now! Lonsdale, Crawford, Mont and the Rawdons, all in custody. It's only a matter of time until Hunt gets one of them to talk. You know the man and how he operates!"

"Calm down, Hugo darling," The second voice had an Irish accent, and was so soft and syrupy that it sounded positively obscene. It gave Alex the creeps. Irish accents had always unnerved her, since Martin Summers' invasion of their world. One look at Gene's face confirmed the identity of the voice's owner. "Of course I know, sweetheart."

_Sweetheart? _ Gene and Alex exchanged glances.

"Get out while there's time," Earnshaw pleaded. "Once Hunt gets one of them to make a statement, Willis won't be able to help you. For God's sake, get abroad and let me sell your assets and transfer them to an offshore account. Hunt will transfer his loathsome attentions to Willis and his men. You'll be able to come back later, when the fuss has died down, and start again. Or else start over abroad. I can get you a ticket to Rio. I know a man who does forged visas. You can be on your way this afternoon!"

"And end my days propping up a bar with Ronnie Biggs?" Warren sounded vastly amused, utterly at his ease. "I've no intention of going anywhere."

"Stephen, I'm begging you!"

"And why are you so anxious to get rid of me?" Warren's velvety voice took on a most unpleasant edge. "Scared I'll spill the beans about some of your nasty intimidation rackets? Or that my boys will? You're in more shit than me, my little poppet. I'm a known quantity to the cops. You're still lily-white, God knows how, but one word from me or any of my boys, and you and your legal career will be _history_."

"Stephen, _please_ - "

"Oh, well, if there's no other way to stop your loud mouth - " There was the sound of an expostulation and a soft thud, followed by a prolonged kiss. Gene tried the door handle, found it locked, and kicked it down.

The five coppers gazed through the wrecked door at the tableau of Earnshaw, sprawled on a sofa, with Warren pinning him down and kissing the life out of him. Warren looked up to find himself gazing into the muzzles of five Met issue pistols. His eyes met Gene's and he burst out laughing, while Earnshaw whimpered and struggled beneath him.

"Police," Gene said unnecessarily. "You're nicked, Warren."

Warren was still laughing. "Well, well, well. Ill met by moonlight, Gene Genie."

"Long time no see." Gene's face was stony. "I see your taste 'asn't improved."

"Absolutely not." Warren stood, knocking Earnshaw into a heap on the floor. "I must say yours has. Who's the little flower?" His eyes raked Jason's form, making the younger man squirm inwardly with embarrassment.

"I'm Ray Carling's son," Jason proclaimed proudly.

"Yeah. We're 'ere for Ray. For Chris Skelton. Annie Cartwright." Gene paused. "Sam Tyler. Joni Newton. Robert Willis an' all 'is silly sods at Soho Square. You've corrupted your last cop, Warren."

"Never said a truer word." Warren advanced, his arms hanging by his sides. "Well, come on. Where are the cuffs?"

Alex's scalp prickled. _Something's wrong here. This isn't just bravado. Warren wants this to happen. Why?_ The answer hit her with a sudden chill. _When we first saw him, he was bending over Earnshaw on the sofa, and I glimpsed something in his waistband, at the back. He has a gun._

Gene was trying to conceal how disconcerted he was by Warren's acceptance of his fate. "Always thought you 'ad a bondage streak." He was about to reach for the cuffs at his belt, but Alex forestalled him.

"I'll do it, Guv. At least with this one, I won't get groped." She holstered her gun, produced her cuffs, and took one step forward, but Earnshaw barred the way.

"DCI Hunt, are you expressing your intention of arresting my client?"

"Too bloody right I am."

"On what grounds?"

"Inciting attempted murder an' arson, GBH, demanding money with menaces, criminal damage, runnin' a protection racket an' corrupting the police."

"Ah, well, you know all about that, don't you, my lovely boy?" Warren murmured urbanely. Alex could see his gun hand moving uneasily, but both she and Earnshaw were standing between him and Gene, and would spoil his aim. _He knows that he'll only have one shot before we grab him. He's relying on surprise. And I'm relying on him not knowing that I've spotted his gun._

Gene's face was stony. "Did, once. Not now. Not since I took you down for the murder of Joni Newton. You know that."

"My client has served his sentence for that offence," Earnshaw snapped.

"Oh, yes, I know you're the sea-green incorruptible these days," Warren drawled. "I changed you, Hunt. You can't deny that."

"DI Tyler changed me." Gene's countenance was mask-like.

"Oh, yes, I heard about poor Tyler. Shame he couldn't swim, wasn't it?" Warren laughed greasily. Gene took a half-step forward, his fist clenched, but Alex touched his arm, and with a massive effort he stopped himself. The tension in the air crackled. Warren laughed again. "Got yourself more under control these days, haven't you? You've gone soft, Hunt. Time was when you'd have beaten me to a violet pulp before now." He flicked a glance at Alex. "The debilitating effect of the love of a good woman."

"Something you'll never know anything about," Gene said harshly.

Warren's face darkened. "Oh, but I did. My mother, God rest her soul. You broke her heart."

"Me?" Gene radiated scorn.

"Yes, you." Suddenly Warren's voice was full of passion. "She believed in me. She thought I was her wonderful, perfect boy. I'd kept everything from her. But I couldn't hide it when I went to trial. She learned everything, what I am, all I'd done, and it destroyed her. She died of a heart attack while I was inside. I couldn't be with her when she died. I couldn't close her eyes. Strangers buried her. I only knew when she was in her coffin. You broke her, Hunt."

"Should've stuck to pinching gobstoppers from the sweetie shop when you were a kid, shouldn't you?" Gene said nastily. "Don't blame the cops for nicking you when you were a bad boy. Blame yourself for goin' to the bad in the first place."

"You broke her, and I'd hate you for that if I'd never hated you for anything else," Warren continued bitterly. "All the years I was in jail, I thought of nothing but destroying you. I dreamed of it, I planned it, every last detail. By the time I got out, you'd run off to London, so I followed. I set up shop on your doorstep and cultivated the local police station. Earnshaw had found out for me, all about Willis and how Mackintosh had corrupted him. One hint that I could blab to the Assistant Commissioner, and he was putty in my hands. And when he couldn't take it any longer and said he'd come clean, my photographic talents came into play. I daresay Cliff's told you all about that. Fists of steel, that boy, good in bed, but verbally incontinent."

"But how did corrupting DCI Willis help you get your revenge on DCI Hunt?" Alex said quietly. She was torn between getting him to talk in the hope that it would distract him, and dreading that he might become excited and start shooting.

Warren gave his most syrupy laugh. "Because it gave me a buzz, my pretty colleen. Running my empire only a few miles from his station, on the very edge of his territory, and he knew nothing about it because I'd castrated the local talent. Having my centre of power in the shadow on the lion's den. I've woken up every day to the thrill of knowing that I've been getting away with it for one more day, one more week, one more month..." He laughed again. "Two things surprised me. One, that I got away with it for so long. The other, how readily all of Willis's crew piled in with him. The whole station under my control. Paradise on earth..." His laughter became high-pitched and unnatural. Jason shuddered.

"You'll pay no attention to anything my client says," Earnshaw said desperately, his face the colour of cold gravy. "He's distracted."

"Yeah, you an' 'im both," Gene said drily.

"I told you - " Earnshaw doggedly went on.

"Oh, give over, you legal gangster," Warren said impatiently. "It isn't just the cops that I've been corrupting, Hunt. This bastard's in the shit as deep as I am. You'll be able to construct a case against him as solid as St Paul's. I've got enough evidence to send him down till the cows come home. Now it'll be yours. My little free gift to you."

Earnshaw panicked and tried to get to the door, but Bammo collared and cuffed him, and at a nod from Gene, hauled him out. Alex cursed silently. With Earnshaw out of the picture, Gene would be a perfect target for Warren. _Which is probably why Warren deliberately panicked Earnshaw into bolting._

Gene fixed Warren with a cold eye. "Never known you to be so generous before. What's come over you all of a nasty sudden?"

Warren seemed high as a kite on excitement and adrenaline. _Maybe he's been taking drugs before we came. If he's high, he'll be unpredictable. Just like Layton. No. Don't think about Layton now. _"Because this is my grand finale, Hunt. My Götterdämmerung, if you know your opera. The moment when my whole world crashes about my ears. And yours." His voice lowered to a snarl, and the gun appeared in his hand as if by magic. "Can't have a finale without a dead body, can't I? Especially when it's going to be yours. At last."

"Why do blokes holdin' guns always feel the need to tell us their life stories?" Gene said sourly. "Put it down, Warren. If you fire, you'll get three bullets in you. An' if we fire first, it'll be self-defence."

"Yes, but you won't, will you?" Warren taunted him. "You were in the shit just over a year ago for shooting your tart, weren't you? Can't risk another shooting incident. Could end your career."

"I was the officer he shot." Alex stepped forward, placing herself between Warren and Gene. "It was a complete accident. I accepted that at the time, and I accept it now."

Gene froze. _Daft, brave, bloody tart. Doesn't she realise that Warren could plug her, just to get at me? I can't lose her now._ He strove to appear unconcerned. The more terrified he looked, the greater the danger that Warren might fire. Jason and Poirot both glanced at him for a sign to lower their guns, but he did not respond.

"Your friends have got the right idea," Warren crooned. "Drop them, or she gets it. So does Hunt."

Jason and Poirot obeyed. Gene lowered his gun, but kept it in his hand. With Alex blocking the way, he did not have a clear aim at Warren anyway, and Warren could not see what he was doing.

Warren impatiently motioned Alex out of the way. "Move, mavourneen. Now. Or my bullet'll go through you and him together. Romeo and bloody Juliet. _Out of my way._"

"Stephen," Alex said quietly. "If you kill an unarmed police officer in cold blood, it's life. You won't see the sky above your head until you're an old man. Put it down, now. Gently does it." Her heart missed a beat as she remembered how she had used the same words to Hollis, just before Shaz was stabbed, and how those words had been on the side of the truck which had blocked her way as she tried to save her parents. _The past always comes back to haunt us._

Warren laughed again, that horrible, high-pitched laugh that chilled their blood. "I've already got my sentence. I'll never be old."

Alex understood. "Stephen?" she said gently.

His face was full of triumph and despair. "Testicular cancer."

"Seems singularly appropriate," Gene said brutally.

"I'll be gone in six months, so the doctors tell me. It spread too far to treat before the daft bastards found it. I won't last long enough to have a trial. So I've nothing left to lose and everything to gain by having my revenge before I become too ill to enjoy it. Spending the last few months of my life in jail'll be a small price to pay for destroying as many coppers as I can. I'm leaving behind plenty of evidence to sink that weak-kneed fool Willis and his crew. And above all, there's the incomparable pleasure of seeing you die, Hunt. I'll not be robbed of that." His hand began to shake.

"You've planned everything since you came to London - for this? To destroy DCI Hunt?" Alex still spoke very gently. Warren was one of the vilest villains she had known in this world, yet she could pity him. Behind his shuddering triumph was an unspeakable terror of the unknown. _And Morgan and Keats will be waiting for him. He's right to be afraid. But it's making him reckless. That's dangerous, for him and for us._

"Of course, for him," Warren snarled impatiently. "The man who brought me down, ruined my empire, and destroyed the only thing I've ever loved. It's only hatred of him that's keeping me alive. So move, my girl, or it'll be both of you."

"_Bolly._" Gene spoke behind her. "This is between him an' me. Move now. That's an order."

_We're both Guardians. If he's killed now, he'll die in my arms and go to the pub. But what will happen if we die here together?_

"Sorry, Guv." She stood her ground. "Stephen, if you - "

The phone on Warren's desk rang.

**TBC**


End file.
